I hate it when somebody is using some kind of textbook strategy on me. I hate it when somebody shifts their share of the weight of the world onto me without first knocking off some of the rough edges. I hate more severe things too: I hate gun shots on Christmas Eve - responses to gunshots from Thanksgiving. I hate hospitals. I hate less severe things: I hate it when I have the window seat, and the passenger in the middle seat is osculating his head around and bobbing and weaving to get every glimpse from every angle of every landmark he can get from the middle seat - breathing some kind of horrible vapors, like a combination of tobacco juice and strange meats right into my face. I hate having vacation days and not being able to use them. I hate that the vacation was more punishing than the work I was vacationing from. I hate reindeer and their games. I hate working my butt off while people around me socialize all day, and then I am told I’m the one not keeping up with deadlines. I hate my self doubt. I hate feeling out of place. I hate the prospect that my writing dream is slipping away from me because I don’t know what to submit nor where to submit it; nor do I know how to find time and energy to develop anything. So what do I do? I put up stickers and leave notes everywhere.
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