Problems, Everybody’s Got Some
Today, one of my old friends sms’ed me out of the blue asking “what kind of problems do you have” because she was going through a rough patch and needed some sort of measuring stick to decide if her problems were really the shit on the ceiling or smudged all over her fingers.
I have problems. I have plenty of problems.
But these days, I don’t tell anybody my problems. That’s the kind of kung foo you get with old age.
I have learned, the hard way that nobody is really interested in your problems unless it affects them in some way, or if your problem is kindoff their problem.
My heart knows that no matter how huge I think my problem is, there’s somebody out there with an even bigger problem. Think the parents of a newly born pair of siamese twins conjoined at the head. Or the orphan of a tsunami-hit poverty stricken village.
A well-liked man, is one who listens to other people’s problems – without ever sharing his own.
Think about it.
Do you really want to hangout with a loser that keeps on whining about how mommy didn’t love him? Or how the world shortchanged him at birth?
But everybody has to let off a little steam sometimes – so whaddayado?
Blog.
Blog all your problems. Your boss that let you down. The girl with great tits but won’t go out with you.Your car’s broken foglight. Your lack of financial means. Your parents who don’t love you. Your yo-yo’ing weight.
Blog, because you have no mouth but must scream.
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