Embracing the Hate

I hate you. Every time I see a couple walking down the street in that obnoxious, we-can’t-stand-to-be-separated-so-we-lock-arms-around-each-other’s-waists-and-block-the-whole-goddamn-sidewalk way, I vomit all over myself and scream internally. Okay, I don’t vomit, but I suddenly hate everything around me. I have to be like, “Excuse me, let me break up your family Christmas card photoshoot and push my way through with my giant cup of coffee and my dark, stinky aloneness. Sorry for bringing your day down with my presence, you can go back to your regularly scheduled “staring longingly into each other’s eyes” now. Ugh.

What do you want me to say? Yes, I hate you because I’m jealous. I’m a petty, jealous, lame human being who is handicapped by her own inability to get past her childish emotions and see people as individuals. To me, you’re all just “evil couples” now, and any hatred I have towards you is magically justified by the fact that you guys get to go home and spoon while I’m sitting on my couch watching reruns of 30 Rock and wondering when I’m gonna have an apartment big enough to get a cat. Yes, I want a cat. I know, I’m a Cathy comic come to life. Next, I’m going to join a Cake Pop-Of-The-Month club and get a prescription for Lexapro. The transformation is well on its way to complete.

And yes, if I really think about it, I don’t actually hate you. At least not in any real, concrete way. I don’t hate you like someone hates the person who slept with their spouse, or Captain America hates Hitler and cursing. But I get really sad and mad when I’m around you because you remind me that I don’t have all the things I want right now, and I don’t know how to remedy it. (If you’re wondering, I’ve tried online dating. I’ve let people set me up. But, aside from the occasional free dinner at Mexican restaurants and hours of stilted conversation, I haven’t really gotten much out of the experience.

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