Here’s the deal – I like to complain. It’s what I do. When I met Mr B, I was a waitress, and part of why he fell in love with me was my hilarious waitress-rants. I like to think of complaining as a kind of art – I take something shitty that happened to me, and I turn it into a funny story to make you laugh. And I’m really good at it. I take pride in my ability. I’d even go so far as to say that it’s a big part of my identity.

But it’s still negative. In order to get the grist for the funny mill, I have to focus on what’s wrong, how I was mistreated, how people are fools, etc.  As anyone who was ever the class clown knows, getting that laugh is like a high. It provides validation and a sense of power: Look how I make people happy!  See how they laugh at my jokes!

Which is ok, to an extent. But my sense of humor has long been both my armor and my most trusted method for reaching out to others. So much so that I’ve noticed that I’m alwayson the lookout for situations that I can turn into a funny bitchfest later. I feel like I can’t stop it, can’t shut it off, or just shut up. I want to be able to relate to people in a way that is positive, be funny in a way that’s also positive (or at least neutral) instead of constantly pointing out how things are screwed up and wrong. I mean, they are screwed up and wrong a lot of the time – but it doesn’t have to be the focus of my life.

I‘m going to try to go without complaining for the next 24 hours. (I’ll wait a moment while those of you who know me get control of your laughter). I think this will be a good opportunity to really take time to think before I speak, and it will help me see how my thoughts shape my moods and my perceptions of reality. And the complaint-ban even extends to physical pain, which I also complain about a lot and not in a funny way. I think there are some unarticulated beliefs about my pain that underlie my complaining about it, and I’d like the chance to think about that as well.

Wish me luck.