(With apologies to Jess. Consider it a kind of deranged, slightly altered epigraph...)
HATE – The bus driver who glares at you for paying the correct fare: doES HE want an excuse to yell at me?
LOVE – The guy at the coffee shop who gave me a large for the price of a small.
LOVE – Street meat.
HATE – My cable internet provider. I am missing two hockey games thanks to you. (thank god both my teams won or I’d have to have killed someone...)
HATE – My modem. If I didn’t have to pay to replace you, I would smash you with the claw end of my framing hammer.
LOVE – The bus driver who doesn’t give a shit that my transfer just expired.
HATE – Getting on the wrong bus.
LOVE – When aforementioned rocking bus-driver lets me off a couple blocks down from my stop (which isn’t actually a stop on his route because I’m on the express bus that isn’t supposed to stop for another 40 minutes...)
HATE – The guy on the bus whose idea of ‘turning his music down’ does not lessen the volume of his ipod to something that will not give me a headache.
HATE – My laptop for being arse. Even if it was free. First order of business when I get a book deal and/or sell the rights to my first book to Fox: buy a MAC. Second: pay off my student loans. Third: A one-way ticket to berlin.
Love – My room-mates for being lovely.
HATE – The people upstairs who insist on vacuuming at 3 a.m.
HATE – writer’s block.
HATE – my cell phone.
HATE – cell phones in general. And ipods. And Any modern gadget that gives people every excuse to pretend they don’t know they are being rude. You are being rude. You know it. You're going to go to A new circle of hell, Where you will have a cell phone crazy-glued to your head as the Devil yells at you in a voice not-unlike fingernails on a black board, giving you a lopsided headache for all eternity.
HATE – That I haven’t seen BJ since that night on the bus when we both nearly cried.
Love – BJ.
HATE – the F5 hurricane that hit my room. Not my fault it’s a disaster zone...
HATE – myself. for lacking the courage necessary to suck it up and jump in the deep end of shark-infested tank of writerdom.
Love – My lovely readers for telling me I don’t suck. (And for meaning it.)
Love – Kylie. For being amazing.
Love – My queen-size bed. Which I don’t have to share.