It's dark now when I go to work and dark when I drive home. But my home has walls and a roof, and it's warm.
It's dark now when I go to work and dark when I drive home.
But my home has walls and a roof, and it's warm.
The tomatoes this time of year are pale, and the vegetable selection is limited.
But there's plenty to eat, and I have a stove and a refrigerator.
At the hospital where I work, patients wait too long to be seen.
But there are plenty of medicines, clean sheets, a reliable laboratory, and full-service radiology.
I can't stand the way people in my neighborhood double-park in front of the post office.
But there's a road to everywhere I want to go and plenty of gasoline, and I have a car that works.
There always seems to be too much work to do and too little time for me.
But I'm able to get up every day and begin where I left off without having to rebuild everything.
It seems the sanitation workers always drop half the garbage in the road when they empty the cans.
But there's electricity and a broadband Internet connection to my house.
I just can't seem to lose the pounds I'd like to.
But the buildings around me are still standing.
Our government sometimes does things that I think are foolish.
But the ocean at our shores has stayed where it's supposed to stay.
The tally of the dead from the tsunami in Asia and Africa is 225,000 and counting, and so many of those who survived have no roads, no houses, no jobs, no clean water, no loved ones.
What do I possibly have to complain about?