Yesterday it seemed like the world sent me a wake up call. As I mentioned in the post below there’s been a bit of whining about work this week. It was all trivial, self-indulgent whining. Poor me, I’m so busy, this job is boring, I hate answering the phone, I’m sick of marking these testings and doing phone interviews. Blah Blah Blah Wendy.

According to yesterday however I should have been saying to myself the following.

Dear Wendy
Count yourself lucky you’re not an 18 year old mother of a two year old son who has arrived at the university either (1) perhaps high as a kite on something illegal (2) perhaps with some kind of added mental illness (3) possibly off your prescription medication (4) or even worse maybe some combination of 1,2, and 3.

Also count yourself lucky that the threatening, aggressive and mildly violent behaviour resulting from the above condition (which was clearly out of your control but nonetheless potentially dangerous to others) didn’t result in you being hauled off by the police and banned from the university campus.

Count yourself lucky again that you weren’t the tired mother of said 18 year old who got a call from me to tell her that her daughter was being taken to the police station for what sounded like it wasn’t the first time and wouldn’t be the last.

As I said, a wake up call.
When we get right down to tin tacks I live a fortunate life. A very fortunate life.