Tuesday, August 15, 2006
(12:07 AM) | Anonymous:
Tuesday Hatred with 20% More Trials and Tribulations
I hate that I almost didn't get to write this post, because the world is currently conspiring against me to make my life unnecessarily and prohibitively difficult.I hate that my purse was stolen from a bar in Berlin. I hate that it's kinda my fault, because I put it on the floor underneath my chair and I should have known better. I hate that that means I no longer have a driver's license, which means I have to borrow someone's car to take the test again, so I can drive when I need to, which is occasionally. I hate that I lost $200 and all the receipts for meals in London for which I was going to get reimbursed.
I hate that American Airlines seems to have misplaced my sole piece of luggage somewhere between Berlin, London, and Chicago. What's more, I hate the terrorists, because it is due to their failed plot that I had to put everything in my checked bag, including my phone and my computer. You can see why it has been difficult to write this post. I hate that I have no clean underwear, and that I have spent the last five hours assembling IKEA furniture because I have nothing better to do: I don't like watching television, and I'm too tired to read. I hate that I am entirely crippled without my phone and my computer, and that I had to do the dread pop-in on a friend today just so I could talk to another human.
But as much as I hate all of these things, the hatred of all of them combined is still surpassed by my hatred of the petty, obnoxious, and self-absorbed nature of most other human beings. I hate seeing people who are stressed out while traveling; they become astonishingly rude, pushy, and show little regard for others. I hate that each person thinks that it is more important for him to get on the bus, get through security, get on the plane, and get off the plane than every other person in the entire airport. I hate that because I refuse to be one of those people, I always end up getting things last.
I hate that this post is as petty as the people I hate. I hate that my recent purse-stealing and luggage-losing experiences have eclipsed my original hatred, which was a hatred of this war in Iraq. I hate that as much as I read, I still can't seem to figure out precisely what's going on, and that no one outside of military personnel seems to have any more information than I do. I hate that there are still people who support the war, even now, who still say invading Iraq was the correct choice. I hate that I've become numb to the reports of Iraqi deaths in the news and that I suspect many other Americans have, too. I hate that we are trying to fight a war against an idea, a nebulous and ill-defined idea, a war that will never end as long as it keeps allowing the executive branch to expand its own power.
I hate that for the first time since 9/11, I was scared to fly, was very anxious leaving Heathrow yesterday. I've never even had to try, to give myself the "if we're afraid, the terrorists win" speech—I've simply been certain that I would stay out of harm's way. But I hate that on a rainy Sunday morning in London, as a hushed Boeing 777 was pushing up through the fog, I shed five or six tears without making any sounds, scared of the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, scared of dying.
But most of all, I hate that even though the men who want to blow up planes have made me cry salty dehydrated (because no liquids) tears into my tray table, I can't help but feel that they kind of have a point.
[UPDATE: Tuesday Love awaits. --Ed.]
