Nobody takes as profound an interest in my problems as I do. Once in awhile I need to remind myself of that fact.
I have problems. I don’t have solutions-waiting-to-happen or challenges or any other buzz phrase that waters down or redirects the focus to a brighter, happier place. Where is George Carlin when I need him? He wrote wonderfully of the softening of the English language. He made obvious how insidious it’s become. I think time will remember him as one of the great social critics.
When someone says, “I have a problem,” we all know what they mean. It’s the moment to listen up and offer sympathy or help if needed. Unless’n what they really mean is “I have an objection.”
We say, “Well, that’s your problem,” if we are unsympathetic and/or somebody is jerking us around. Or “I have enough problems of my own, thank you very much.”
I’ve had problems all my life and I expect to have problems for the remainder of my life. They’re like little pets. They change, as in they’re not always the same ones, new ones come in, old ones go away; some drop into the background for a while and then come roaring back, and some just tag along all the time like a cranky best friend.
I used to think problems could or should get solved. I mean all of them and be done with the whole affair. Yes, well. That’s my problem.