Let’s have a pity party…1…2…3…awwwww

Wow…the past couple of days have been one big pity wallow-fest. You’d think, being a grown up and all, I’d be past this and able to be a grown up about it.

But I am not, and I don’t want to. No. I want to throw down on the floor and have a temper tantrum and shout things like IT’S NOT FAIR and WHY AM I BEING PICKED ON and stuff like that. Like some 3 year old who didn’t get the red balloon or a teenager who didn’t get the car she wanted for her birthday.

I remember actually hearing a young person complain about getting the blue Camaro when she wanted a red one. We nipped that mess in the bud when the boys were little. If they whined about getting the wrong color/whatever, we said “fine then, you won’t get that one…or any other one. (you ungrateful snot)”

So now I am being an ungrateful snot. I have so much. A house to live in, income to support me for the rest of my life (even if the stockmarket crashes), kids and grandkid(s, hopefully). Food to eat, roses to bloom, a way to go. I have so much and yet whining is the default setting for today.

The stuff That Wasn’t keeps coming into my head. (get thee behind me, Satan, you’re an asshole.) Gratitude isn’t. It needs to. It must. Dissatisfaction is an ugly thing, especially now when there is so much to be grateful for.

It’s all working out. Really, it is. What am I cranky about, anyway? My birthday is coming up. The big 50. When Himself turned 50 I had a big party, a drop in thing and lots of people showed up to wish him a Happy, and he loved it. I want to stomp my foot and pout about it, because he isn’t here to make a big deal over me. Poor poor pitiful me, let’s have a pity party 1…2…3…awe. Get over it, ya pwecious pwincess.

So here’s what’s going to happen. The boys are invited over for dinner that night. Ribeyes will be grilled, potatoes will be baked, as well as a berry cobbler. yum. with whipped cream. The real kind. There will be a bouquet of flowers on the table and a tiara on my head.And a cold 6-pack of pear hard cider. Who said someone else has to plan my party? NO ONE.

There. I’ve talked myself out of being an ungrateful snot, and feel much better now.

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About rootietoot

I do what I can.
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3 Responses to Let’s have a pity party…1…2…3…awwwww

  1. jerseechik says:

    Anger is one of the phases of grief, and gratitude is a great place to turn afterwards.

  2. Bella Rum says:

    Even though you have so much to be grateful for, there is something to be sad about, too. You have a right to a pity party if that’s what you need, but I’m glad you’re focused on a birthday party instead. That’s definitely turning lemons into lemonade. Happy 50th in advance. May there be many more.

  3. Judy says:

    Hey–I was p.o.’d for months–no problem. It sometimes helps to get angry to drive away depression. I would come to your party, if I lived closer 50 years old is a big deal!!!! I remember mine well–everyone forgot about it. I’m still p.o.’d!! HAH!

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