From the letters of Charles Darwin:
“Oh my God how do I hate species & varieties.”
“I am very tired, very stomachy & hate nearly the whole world.”
“I am very poorly today & very stupid & hate everybody & everything.”
“I hate myself, I hate clover, and I hate bees.”
“I am languid & bedeviled & hate writing & hate everybody.”
On this Easter Sunday, the assignment today from NaPoWriMo: write about hating something innocuous. Go to town. Go crazy. Whether or not some of the following is innocuous may be debatable.
Hate Is A Pretty Strong Word
My friend Curtis hates cilantro.
He says it tastes like soap.
I don’t hate much, reserved mostly
for people, a couple of people in
particular, one of whom thinks
he wears a crown, and another guy
who will go nameless. On further
reflection, there are some
hateful things. I hate the dog
hair swirling around the hardwood
floors in the morning, sticking
to my socks, so when I rest
my feet on the ottoman, I leave
behind a pile of dander.
I hate this rubber orange ball,
the one that my physical therapist
gave me to exercise my thumbs,
not so much because it’s orange
or rubber, but because it reminds
me about the pain in my thumbs
and also that physical therapy
is expensive and my insurance
sucks rubber balls. It’s Easter, for
Christ’s sake. I hate dyeing eggs
and I refuse to do it. Don’t ask
me to hunt for eggs. I hate the
bunnies that lay them, and I hate
the bluebells, beautiful, completely
taking over the garden beds.
michael jarmer 