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I was a grumpy little bugger today.

I want desperately to break out in an uncensored rant about all the things I hate about my life, but I keep stopping myself. I keep interrupting the mental tirade with more well-reasoned thoughts, and it has kept me biting my tongue.

I want to bitch and moan, diarrhea of the mouth style. Get it all out so I can stop carrying it around. But I tell myself no one wants to hear it. I call myself a whiner, a complainer, a pessimist, and I tell myself these are all unlikeable things to be.

I can’t remember the last time I “woke up on the bright side.” The last time I thought to myself, I’m going to be happy today and then made it so. I don’t operate that way. And, I don’t honestly believe it’s a “better” way to be. Oh sure, I imagine people who do are happier. I compare myself to them and come out looking like a crab-ass. I tell myself they make for better friends and lovers. I tell myself I’m worth less than them. But these are simply the lies I’ve believed.

I like that I get to be a grumpy little bugger. I wish I could give myself free reign to see it all the way through. That I would stop interrupting myself or trying so hard to contain myself. Really, who gives a fuck what anyone else thinks of me? What should matter is what I think of me. But that’s usually my last consideration.