TO SPEAK OR SPEAK NOT, IF YOU HAVE NOTHING GOOD TO SAY. THAT IS A QUESTION.

A questionable thing about blogs is that you get to complain all you want.

I don’t know how popular that makes one. When I come across a young persons post on tags, there is often trouble at home apparently, or with friends. It all seems natural, especially for those of us who have no one to complain to about our story, can’t tell those at home, or don’t want to lose all our friends for being a drag. There are probably other reasons as well.

ALL YOU DO IS…

As adults, a lot of this complaining is thrown into politics, to make it seem it is really all someone “out there’s” fault for our discomfort and angst. Some complain about the boss or a co worker who they are having trouble communicating with, or have given up on. Some complaints are about home relationships or love life’s confusion.

There are often shows on TV and movies that show the kids both ruling the home and doing the complaining for many entertainment or dysfunctional reasons. When I was little, overall, complaining was not on the agenda, it usually ended up working against you, or left you with the blame.

DO AS I SAY OR AM OR ELSE?

I have worked in many a company where the companies behavior, much reflected personality traits of the owner, (as also national leaders) for better or worse. It weighs on workers or employees when it is for the worse. Responsible workers end up trying to pick up the slack and often receive no acknowledgement for it, since the owner seems not to value the trait. On rare occasions, they (owner) might notice you have something they really need.

It is unfortunate for uncomfortable work environments where expression of problematic elements of the individuals “story” are not encouraged to be heard. These may come home to greet the family instead with the expression of discomfort, which can both bother the family members or a mate to a great degree, or model frustration encouragement as a family value apparently.

One way or another I have experienced most of these phenomenon. As a volunteer for an alternative to domestic violence treatment, many guys especially need to learn how to compartmentalize work troubles from contaminating home relationship ones, for if we do not have the tools or were modelled with dominator/force (emotional or physical) tools, we can end up burying the love at home and planting fear on top of the pile of anger.

One technique someone used was to place the anger under a rock outside before coming into the house, to pick it back up on the way out to work in the morning. Only to find someone must have stolen the problem overnight. Sometimes a ritual can remind one of both what is sacred and important in ones life.

NOW THAT I HAVE SET THE STAGE FOR MY WORK PROBLEMS YESTERDAY

Luckily I have someone to tell all my troubles to and I hope vicea versa. The object is to tell your story so you can move on or get advice, maybe even have someone share the pain with empathy. I have to remember to pass on the good experiences as well or a downward focus can set up quarters.

Anyway.

My yesterdays whine list is quite short. On the wall I was finishing, in one aspect of top caps, I had to lay on top of it to reach down as far as I could to cut Pyracantha bush branches that were jambed in on the last 5 feet of the wall. They have wicked barbs akin to reaching around in a rose bush. I forgot my long pruners but happened to have a small hand one. My hand was down the side of the wall, with me laying flat dangling off of the top of the wall. My hand became literally covered in blood. As you get older, most of us see our skins become a mere film of what it once was.

The bush kept pushing back into the wall as I cut, so I was there for several minutes with some branches over one half inch thick, difficult with little hand pruners. Being beaten up, I had to shimmy(?) backwards over cement block to try to get to the crocked ladder. Getting onto the ladder, it collapses so I go backwards and sideways blind to the ground. I crash into the wheelbarrow with some mortar mix in it. It goes flying, but for some reason I had mixed the mortar in my rubber cement mixer inside the wheelbarrow. It slide out, leaving the mix still safe and sound.

Since I have neck and back problems, and hit on the side my neck issues are, I did not know how I would be come morning, but I’m not that bad. I’m always soar and stiff by morning, so only more so a bit today. The back of my hand burns, and I have a number of largish scrapes on my arms where I hit the wheelbarrow and ladder on the other arm. Good to go for today.

Whah, whah, whah,. You liberals are such whiners. Why I had an arrow shot right through my head and you don’t see me complaining. Good for nothing, commie pinko sun brothers camping going to Guantanamo springs for a respite I think?

Thanks for the shoulder. OK, the eyeballs, whatever.

Just kidding about those last two paragraphs.