It’s the strangest thing. But I think it is more than just complaining. I think society and its determination to give minute-by-minute details of disasters has done a number on me. I am often dreading some unknown something. In a bank of beautiful, fluffy white clouds I see beauty. But I also secretly wait for the plume of smoke that will undoubtedly break them apart.
I’ve talked about this before. The feelings are just as strong today. It can be a gloriously sunny day, kids playing on the sidewalk. Instead of relishing in that moment, I find myself thinking: “when is a car going to come barreling down and plow into them?” It’s debilitating at times, this what if dread. What if something happens to me, to Daddy, to the kids? What if a family member gets ill? What if the train I’m on blows up? What if the man beside me, smiling, is the blower upper of this train? What if the shuttle bus is hit by a Metrobus and we plummet off of the overpass then get hit again by oncoming traffic? No, really, I seriously do think these things. What if the tap water has a higher lead concentration than we’ve been told? What if the weather oddities persist? What if 2012 is the end of the world?
Doesn’t matter that I can’t answer the what ifs. Doesn’t matter that I take pains to secure my family and myself from what I can prevent. What matters is that I don’t believe that my issue with complaining is due to a desire to just bitch all the time about nothing. Real things in the world, images and situations that have been seared in my brain have caused me to be negative. To question. To complain. It’s not just me being negative for the hell of it. It’s the world constantly telling me I have reason to be negative, reason to be fearful, reason to complain because bad shit happens to good peopleand the minute I get complacent and start enjoying life, the fucking dingo will eat my baby.