Who Am I To Complain?

So, here I am. I have never really blogged before but I did have a diary when I was a teenager so that counts...right? Fast-forward a few years and I am now a 27-year-old who is constantly stressing out and tired. Nice, huh? Maybe blogging will help. We'll see.

I am married to a handsome 28-year-old man named Kevin. We've had our share of downs, but I'd rather be poor with him than rich with anyone else... if that makes any sense at all. Together we have 3 very rambunctious kitties. Their names are Baby (boy), Kiki (girl) and Onyx (girl). They are a handful and a half.

Here are some of the many reasons I could complain:

1. My husband is currently unemployed.
2. I am currently employed part-time.
3. I am currently enrolled in school full-time.
4. My home seems to always need cleaning.
5. My cats charge through the house knocking everything over like it's the Battle at Little Fucking Big Horn.
6. For some reason, I can never actually pay all of my bills in full each month. There's always something left over on my balances.
7. I get maybe 2 hours of good sleep each night (I'm in bed for at least 8).
8. My car is what some might call a hooptie. I bought it off of my grandma and I'm driving on a spare tire.

And here are the reasons I have to not complain:

1. I'm alive.
2. I'm employed.
3. I'm getting an education.
4. I have a home.
5. My husband and kitties love me.
6. I pay at least some of my bills. (Yay?)
7. I have a bed to sleep in.
8. I have a car.
9. Everything could be worse.

So, who am I to complain? Nobody. I have problems. You have problems. We all have problems. Some issues are worse than others but it's a universal truth that everyone has problems. Why should I be allowed to complain if everyone has to deal with the same things too?

I shouldn't.