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Hatin' on the Mundailies by Jesse Printer Friendly

Well, Hate Week. I haven't missed you after all. However, I'm pretty fricken tired, cause it's the middle of the night again all of a sudden.

I hate that time seems to speed up after 9pm, when I actually start to feel good about being awake. (And then the guilt sets in, for my heart harbors the extreme desire to NOT sleep, because now I feel like smiling, now there's that feeling of creativity, but all the while my mind tells me that I should go to bed.... And then suddenly the struggle is too wearisome, or perhaps it really is late enough to sleep, and little is done, and sleep is necessary but worth so little to me. I hate all of that.

I hate that I've yet to have a neighbor since I was a little kid that I liked talking to. I've successfully avoided the Craziest Old Woman in Town Neighbor this time around, but now my neighbors are young and easily startled by greetings. Most find the ground absurdly fascinating when confronted with someone outside of their circle. I hate that I'd have to try so hard, probably just to find out I don't care for your company that much anyway. No, in fact, I hate you.

I hate that the area around my desk at work is an unpredictable and varying temperature. I hate this by way of my ultimate displeasure with slightly-too-small khakis damp with ass-sweat... Because variance, in this sense, is only the range from allllmost comfortable to stagnated and putrified swamp air.

I hate feeling restricted in anyway, and that societal life has become nothing but restrictions; and I hate that I haven't fortitude or desire enough to die fighting to fix the system. I hate that, probabalistically, if I devoted my life to that, I'd most likely be ineffectual.

I hate checking the mail. I never get anything good, and the rest of the crap just sits around making a mess until I rampage through it. Then sometimes it just sits there in a pile of junkmail and torn up pieces of stupid shit I didn't want sent to me in the first place, but now I have to go through the hassle of tearing it into little itty bitty pieces just in case some cunty hobag gets their hands on it.

I hate sore throats and choking on my own spit. I hate poppy seeds. I hate having allergies. I hate that it's so hard to find shirts that are long enough that don't double as car covers, or shoes my size to try on. I hate shopping for myself period.

I hate that there's a card for everything, everywhere you go now... You carry all this shit around, some of it you use once every two months or less, but you can't take it out cause you'll surely forget it and then you won't have it and what was the point of having it in the first place by that time? Nothing quite like a fat wallet that's still empty and the eventuality of a butt-divet, while you're listing things to hate. I think those should be right up there. Right up there with not being able to drive 100 when there's no one around, right there with screaming kids and apathetic parents you're not allowed to punch in the mouth, with groups being funded to find the next digit of pi while many diseases go overlooked, while bombs are going off in quaint little hometown restaurants in countries you've never wanted to go to but are full of people just like us... happy to go about their lives as best they can with all this hatable hazy weighing everything down.

Also... Fuck you, lima beans. You're on my permanent shitlist.


Comments:
Entered By God Satan Alliance From Africa
2009-03-16 03:25:04

Hey! I like Poppyseeds asshole. They're crunchy and small -- just like Jesus, and I remember a time when that still meant something to people.



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