I Love … I Hate

I Love:

• ·         The idea of being a writer and doing what I want, when I want, where I want.
• ·         Mimosas.
• ·         Honesty.  (And people who desire nothing less.)
• ·         Kurt Vonnegut’s existential angst.
• ·         The beach.  I want to write essays about things I find important, while I’m sunning myself in the 70 degree ocean air coming off the Pacific Ocean.
• ·         My children.  Unconditionally.
• ·         Dancing, even though I never get to do it in public anymore. 
• ·         The idea of love, even though I’ve forgotten what it’s like.
• ·         Waking up and getting coffee and getting back in bed.
• ·         The right hat that perfectly cradles my skull.
• ·         Turning on movies that I’ve already seen so I don’t have to actually pay attention to them, but which comfort me with their familiarity.
• ·         A crackling fire and a good book and a glass of wine.

I Hate:

• ·         Other people constantly wanting something from me.
• ·         Poseurs.  Fake fucking people who pretend to be something they’re not.  People who look right at a person and think one thing, but say something meaningless and untrue.
• ·         My inability to be want I want to be.  (Apparently, I am not a writer, even though that’s the only thing I currently want to be.)
• ·         The fact that Phillip Seymour Hoffman just died of a heroin overdose.  Why are the most broken people the best at what they do?
• ·         Being bloated.  (Don’t judge me.)
• ·         That I have no friends to talk to about anything.  Ever.
• ·         How the bureaucratic bullshit of my job makes me want to quit the one thing I’m pretty good at.
• ·         People who stick their faces in screens rather than interacting properly with other people.
• ·         Purposeful ignorance.
• ·         Feeling too much.  (Actually, thinking too much is more apropos.) 
• ·         That I can’t seem to graduate from high school.