elegantwaste's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- hate You know what's kind of refreshing? Hating someone who hates you back. Usually, I'm all about the all-consuming dislike, and they're all tickles and whispers. Or if not that far, they don't think about me at all. Which, probably is the case with a lot of the people I hate. And I don't hate a lot of people. Gordon Campbell, for one, B.C.'s premier who was arrested for drunk driving - and I hated him before, no worries there - probably never even thinks about me, even though in my younger days of political zeal, I was in the same room as him several times, and was even introduced once. The girl who bullied me in middle school, Whitney, also probably doesn't ever think about me. I don't think about her very often, either, except that she shows up in my dreams sometimes. I don't really know that I hate all that many more people. But, there are a few people I strongly dislike that are acquaintances, and treat me with the kindest fondness imaginable, which only makes me hate them more. Nevertheless, I find myself this last year hating a girl who openly hates me back. No love lost, as they say. My roommate's cunty ex-girlfriend, who is the epitome of all the reasons I would ever have to hate someone: she treats someone I love like shit, she's racist and homophobic and generally closed-minded, she treats me like a secretary on the phone, and she has the most annoying voice in the history of the world. There are other reasons to hate her, like, she's a skanky ho and she's mean and she's unreasonable and patronizing. Basically, I just hate her. But it's so much fun hating someone who knows you hate her, and who hates you back. I get to be snarky on the phone, I get to say mean things, and since I am way, way smarter than this girl (yes, I know that sounds bad, but, really!) I always win. Woo! Okay, now that I've showen my mean-spirited nature, I'm going to talk about the wounded, crazy side of me, in that I can't physically write anything with somebody sitting within three feet of me. This is bad because our kitchen table is about two feet directly behind my computer chair. And my roommate of the love-hate relationship always sits there to eat his cereal and study. And I can't do anything, because I think he's going to look over my shoulder and read it. Not that I would care most of the time (this entry an exception), but, really. It's not easy being nuts and overly self-conscious. 12:16 p.m. - 2003-01-15 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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