You have innumerable reasons to claim life sucks and you would not be the first person to be expressing the very wish that life should be treating you otherwise. Or else. You do love to issue threats and commands to no end expecting the world to bow and bend and oblige you at every step. You have come to know people of the same heritage blaming the world at large in the same vein that would be passed on to other generations, unfortunately. When you do get the short end of the stick, that life could be a long candle with a flame burning with low intensity or blown off tragically or perhaps smoking to no end with no flame? Compare what you would love to get in terms of life. Do you feel you are behind the bars right now? Like you imprisoned yourself in a cell and all hope is gone like that flame, so you just wait inside withering away and perhaps, funnily enough, that smoke could be a sign or a cry for help, but would somehow backfire. So leave that cell and start living.
Griping Is an Art
People choose cells for various reasons, sometimes cells choose some people. Most often than not we fall a victim to fate and that should be that, we all know what it might mean, which is why any complaining curmudgeons and the like minded lot kvetching all day long about the life’s misery and unfair treatment should know so much better than this. Bitching about the misery brings on more misery as it loves company, so it is spreading like virus, which other people contract as a result of the kvetch viral strategy. Nothing can be good so we are all doomed. No more yes I can only why cannot we have some more without trying as life is so hard and unrelenting and it feels so bad and hurts like hell? Some of that miserable lot are true masters of perfectionism, till then nothing can be good enough, not from their point of view, and before that happens, they give griping all their might and fuel their tanks with spotted imperfections till they almost drop dead. What others could see as hairsplitting and nitpicking they see as the wondrous gift of the thinking mind. How sad! Instead of seeing the beauty in those unfinished shreds of imperfect reality they go about each of them kvetching and puffing until the reality wakes up and undergoes a radical change to their final satisfaction, with no half measures, only full battery cannoning. The life is a misery shedding imperfection after imperfection in their little worlds, so that they hardly can keep up with perfecting it to the tiniest bit. But, alas, once perfection is all done, there is hardly any rest, as the gained peace is hardly an armistice, it breaks out soon anew. Till the new dawn of perfection sets.