Last week, I acted like a total brat.
Nothing seemed to go right, everything felt a billion times more difficult, and I was overthinking absolutely everything. As I parked my car in the lot on Friday afternoon after a long ass week, I sat there and thought to myself.
Seriously Paige. Stop bitching.
Every bit of the whining that I was doing accomplished absolutely nothing. Not a single thing. But what it did do was stress me the hell out, spark a few unnecessary arguments with the boyfriend, and made me very, very unhappy.
My inner you-got-this-girl voice gave me a stiff kick in the ass and reminded me of one thing: honey, it could be so much worse. My mom used to remind me of this as a kid, and I absolutely hated it. I would always snap back with the counter-argument that if it could be worse, that it could be better. Sorry, Mom. I get it now. Things could definitely be worse.
Give me just a second to explain my brattiness so I can bring this thing full circle and turn this ship around.
As I mentioned, last week felt like hell. And I spent every single moment complaining about it.
I get paid bi-weekly and budget my expenses accordingly. Because my honey is paid on a different schedule, we have to balance our books a tad differently. This time around, he wasn’t going to receive his check until December 5th, just two days shy of our grace period for rent. So you know what that meant? I had to cover the bill for a few days until he was able to deposit his half of the bill into my account — so we wouldn’t get an eviction notice. No pressure.
I barely make enough money to afford where we live so I was already cutting it pretty close. Keep in mind, I’m a struggling Millennial so rent is just the bottom of the pile of my insurmountable bills. I was also anticipating our weekly bill for our fancy new couch, my ridiculously high car note, insurance for the piece-of-shit car and oh yeah, food to nourish my 98.5 lb body.
Luckily though, I had just enough pennies to cover my share of our bills until Boyfriend got paid…or so I thought.
I got dressed (rolling my eyes and huffing-and-puffing the entire time) and dragged my butt to my car. When I got in and turned the key, I saw that I was completely out of gas. I ranted about the full experience here.
I woke up to see this romantic notification,
Your Low Balance Alert From Chase: As of 12/05/2017 9:57:02 AM EST, the available account balance was $-49.48, which is less than the minimum balance of $50.00 in your Alerts settings.
I’d be lying if I told you that the first word out of my mouth wasn’t “……f*ck.” Not only did I have absolutely zero money to cover the deficit, but Boyfriend didn’t either. At least not for another few hours. Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough time to worry about it because I would have been late for work. And I literally, couldn’t afford to get fired.
I make it to work, reminding myself to smile at my new coworkers because I also can’t afford to scare off any potential friends. I’m the new girl. Sit down and see a text from Mom saying that my tags would expire at the end of the week.
Great. There goes another $100+ dollars, and if I drive like a maniac, a hefty driving violation.
I had a pre-arranged visit to the doctor to make sure that all of my body parts are still working and I’m not growing a third arm. I left work a bit early, burn nearly half of the gas that I struggled to put in, to arrive at a dark doctor’s office with a sign that said the doctor was “unavailable” and had left at 5pm….my appointment was at 5:45.
It was also the annual Social Santa event at my old job. Yes, my old job. I quit and can’t seem to leave those poor people alone. In exchange for donating a gift to a child for the holidays, we were given a drink ticket which granted us a free alcoholic beverage.
At this point, your girl needed a strong ass drink so I politely asked the server to put some extra love in my drink. The good kind. And by good kind, I mean a few extra splashes of the strongest thing they had on the shelf. I’ll save you the long story and tell you that I got drunk and complained to all of my old desk buddies that I missed them. Alcohol makes you do the darndest things.
I was hungover. I hope that my co-workers couldn’t tell. That is all.
Annnnnd we’re back to the parking lot where my inner voice was giving me the pep talk. As I reflected on my crazy ass week and so desperately wanted to keep whining about it, I thought about this little gem.
It’s a pretty blunt rendition of the classic glass half full/glass half empty saying that you read on fortune cookies, but it was exactly what I needed. Sure, I had a full week of shitty events, but it could be so much worse. Let’s say that louder for the people in the back.
This couldn’t be more true. When I thought about the week again, I felt really terrible for bitching for a full seven days. I thought about the cold homeless man that I drove past on my empty tank of gas. And the mother squeezing her daughter’s hand as they crossed the sidewalk to get home.
I’m sure that they would have nearly killed me to be in my position. To have a full paying 9-5 job, a warm home to come to, a healthy body free of illness, a supportive boyfriend to endure all of the bitching, and family and friends that love them. I have all of those things.
I felt so embarrassed and disappointed that I wasted an entire week wishing that things could be “better”. I am blessed. Yes, I’m struggling, but I am blessed.
So here’s the takeaway.
Life is too freaking short to spend it complaining about how empty your glass is. For crying out loud, at least you have a glass to complain about. When you find yourself gearing up to throw a raging pity party, reconsider the things that you wish were better in your life and remind yourself that your situation is someone else’s “better”.