Tuesday, August 01, 2006
(8:11 AM) | Anonymous:
Tuesday Hatred: Pain and Deliberate Misdirection
I hate that I still think about the person who ran me over every minute for (minimum) the two hours a day I spend rehabbing my torn obliques and rent back. I hate that I can't let this hatred go. I hate that I don't have some transcendent system which comforts me with the belief that this person will get what's coming to him or her. I hate that I sometimes watch terrible revenge fantasies at 3 a.m. and wish that Jean-Claude Van Damme would avenge my pain this time.I hate the fact that I have pain-induced insomnia. I hate that its alternative is medicine which incapacitates me for 16 hours. I hate that the alternative to that is re-re-re-re-watching Batman Begins, because it's not who you are underneath, but what you do that defines you.
I hate that I've slept so little and infrequently these past three months that I didn't even have to consult IMDB to make sure I nailed that quote. I hate that those words are burned into my brain, despite the fact that what I do on a given day is sit on a yoga ball for a couple of hours reading, then futz around while trying not to breath too deeply and vomit from the pain.
I hate that I want to vomit from the pain at least three times a day.
I hate that my dissertation doesn't write itself. I hate that I'm unable to enter some productive fugue state in which hours disappear into ether. I hate that the ether my hours disappear into smells like scorched California instead.
I hate that the scouring of California precedes updates on the situation in the Middle East on both the local and national news. I hate that I can understand why it would take precedence locally, but can muster no explanation for why the national news should be so concerned with the natural conflagration in SoCal that they ignore the deliberate conflagratory behavior of My (a.k.a. "The Chosen") People.
I hate that everyone assumes I bend thrice-over backwards to justify Israeli war crimes. I hate that some people can't separate cultural Jews from militant Zionists or wilfully confuse the two.
I hate that I'm constantly misunderstood everytime I try damn with faint praise. I hate that such damnation doesn't survive the transition from mind to keyboard. I hate that so much subtlety's stillborn in that particular transit. I hate that I can imagine how much smarter we'd all be if it wasn't.
I hate that as a resident of California, I'll have to stay up way past my bedtime to post this on Tuesday. I hate that, unlike TypePad, Blogger doesn't have that little calendar and clock in the corner that allows me to control when this appears.
[UPDATE: Don't forget to love your neighbor or to sign up for the remaining Hatred spots. -- Ed.]
