I hate parsley. And barbeque sauce and white pepper and gin. I hate wearing tights and turtlenecks. I hate pants even more. I hate not knowing. I hate waiting. I hate that I sometimes get butthurt when someone unfollows me on Twitter.
I hate that I’m not one of those people who had their life plan figured out by college and then set out and accomplished it. But I’m thankful that I realize those people are few and far between.
I hate sitting in a cubicle all day. I hate cold coffee. I hate traffic. I hate going to bed without brushing my teeth and flossing. I hate bellybutton rings and linoleum and crumbs in the sheets. I hate the musical Miss Saigon and scary movies and cruises.
I hate that my brain remembers the most pointless information, but I retain very little facts I learned in school. I’ll remember your mom’s birthday, what I was wearing the day I met you, where I was when I first heard that song, but I struggle to remember the topic of my college thesis, which I spent three semesters writing.
I hate people who don’t respond to texts or intentionally wait thirty minutes before doing so to prove some sort of point. I hate when people judge without knowing the whole story, though I admit I am guilty of this myself. I hate that I’m quiet when I first meet people and I hate that this can come off as snobbiness.
I hate those days when nothing seems to go your way, when all those stupid little things add up to be one massive grumble. When you lollygag around in bed for too long and then spend fifteen minutes sitting on the floor of your bedroom in a huff because you have absolutely nothing to wear. Then that asshole won’t let you merge onto the highway and when you do get on, there’s traffic, which there typically never is. And your coffee drips all over your hand and dress as you walk into work, where you realize that you’ve lost your key card for the fifth time in eight months. The morning crawls and you get stupid calls from people who ask endless questions about things that were very clearly outlined on the form you sent them. You go to lunch and when you get to your car, you discover your keys are still in the office. And the pho place screws up your order and gives you chicken instead of beef and no sriracha, but you don’t find this out until you’re back at your desk. In the afternoon, Outlook decides to freeze up what seems like every thirty minutes, but during one of its brief periods of functioning, it delivers you a stern email from a superior explaining how you screwed up. Rather than going to happy hour after work, you try to be responsible and go for a run instead. But it’s terrible and seems to go on forever and your pants keep falling down so you have to run with one hand holding them up the entire time. You get home and want some wine, but you can’t find your corkscrew so you try to open the bottle up with a pen and end up spraying red wine all over yourself. You thought you had one more Amy’s frozen pizza left to eat for dinner, but when you open the freezer you discover that you, in fact, do not. So you eat tuna from the can and some defrosted frozen vegetables while watching shitty reality TV on the DVR and take 2 melatonin and go to bed at like 9:30. Yeah, I hate days like that.
I hate working out with other people and I hate playing recreational games (darts, pool, shuffleboard, horseshoes…that sort of thing). I hate that I have no hand-eye coordination to speak of, which means I really hate playing sports. But I do love board games!
I hate that I’m so all or nothing. I hate feeling like I’ve disappointed someone. I hate being late (though this is happening more often recently). I hate that I make myself available to certain people who don’t do the same for me.
I hate that wherever I am, no matter how happy I may be, I always seem to long for somewhere else. Places I’ve traveled, places I’ve lived, places I’ve never been…DC, New York, Montana, Burlington, Paris, Austin, Istanbul, Charleston, Lisbon.
I hate that empty achy feeling that goes from my chest to the pit of my stomach when I miss someone or something. I hate crying in public. I hate letting go. I hate that I care about you. And you, too. I hate that I confuse me so much sometimes. I hate goodbyes.
But I was really serious about the parsley thing. It’s the absolute worst.