The Art of Complaining

As I try to think of something that I am not particularly happy in my life I stare at the blank Word
Document, while the titillating cursor annoyingly reminds me with each pulse that time is going by
and I still haven’t thought of something that I am unhappy about in my life to write about. How
can I have nothing to come to terms with? When all my life I´ve been known to be the one that
always had a complaint about everything. I complain about the boring book my English teacher is
making us read, or about the fact that it is my turn to take out the garbage, or about how
condescending my classmate´s laughter sounds after he has made a witty comment to the teacher.
I have even got to the point in which I complain about complaining!

My complaints can be about anything because I know what I don’t like, I exercise this skill daily.
The issue has become that I have become such a master in the Art of Complaining that I
experience the things I enjoy quietly, without pointing out any aspect of them. My whole life my
critical thinking skills have been a strong aspect of my personality, but they have also turned into
my favorite self-inflicted torture; a trap into unhappiness I set to myself. So, if I have something to
complain about is complaining itself as it has taken away my capacity to notice the things I enjoy.