Given my own advanced age, I should be kinder about this. But I am surrounded by bitter old hags — aged women in their 60s and 70s with nothing to live for. They have no children, no other family, no friends. It would be one thing if they could swallow their disparate bile, but they insist on polluting everyone else with their anger and resentments.
Yes, I have heard one particular woman rant about everything from squirrels and crows, to her landlady and neighbors. I do what I can to avoid her, to resist being sucked into her maelstrom of spleen and venom.
Some years ago I ran into an article online which asked, “Why do old men complain so much?” It seemed to me a good question at the time. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, I would ask, “Why do old people — men and women — complain so much?”
Technically, I guess my complaining about the complaining old women is itself a complaint. Mea culpa.
The truth is I don’t know what to do with this frustration and feeling of being beaten down by the negativity around me. At least by writing about it here, I can release some of these feelings. No one is being singled out to listen to my complaint. I will assume you made it here by accident and decided to read on. Please know: I meant you no harm.