I don’t like…
Not really, of course.
I don’t like that you don’t like what I like and/or don’t like.
Put another way, I don’t like that I don’t like that you have a liking preference when it comes to my liking or not liking.
I guess if we’re being brutally honest, however, I’d have to say that I don’t like that we’re not in like.
Oh, screw it.
Let’s just cut to the chase, why don’t we?
You want to know the bloody, awful truth, do ya? Well, here it is:
I don’t like you.
Actually, come to think of it, it’s not that I don’t like you, so much as I hate you.
None of that is true, of course.
I’m just a little fed up.
I once attended a sleepover, long past the time it was socially acceptable to do such things, mind you, but hey, that’s me, and I never once claimed to be the coolest kid in the bunch…
but I digress.
The point is, rather, that I really liked sleepovers during this time in my life because you participated in a set of pseudo-adult activities that made you feel grownup-esque, but without all the real world responsibilities.
To wit, I guess what I liked most were all the beauty regimens we took part in since they weren’t yet fully directed at garnering one boy other another or for impressing one another.
These little rituals also weren’t yet fully undertaken at the direction (or urging, as it were) of our mothers or society or whatever.
We weren’t yet fully disgusted with the waste of it in terms of financials or resources (both time and energy).
It was at once both make-believe and practice. Innocent fun.
Silly little facials that required a great deal of picking and scrubbing to remove didn’t bring with them hours of self-loathing in front of a mirror. Or, worse, burns and scars (physical and emotional) or thoughts of a friend’s mother battling breast cancer and how she’d probably kill to be able to wax her eyebrows that have long since disappeared without a trace.
Nope. Back then, not having eyebrows was simply a funny story to tell at school on Monday.
That was it.
In retrospect, I wish I would’ve appreciated it for what it was: a time never to be reclaimed.
I get it. The inevitable happens. You grow up. Things that used to be fun and pretend (e.g. cooking, cleaning, grocery shopping, eating, etc.) become laborious chores.
You forget to eat or forget to date or don’t feel like getting a dog anymore because, well, you simply don’t have that time.
You’re too busy being busy.
Weird, huh? But true, right?
I know I’m jagging on now, but when taken with my initial riff, wouldn’t it make sense to start reclaiming our wasted lives by simply liking ourselves as we are? To redirect all our energy away from deciding whether to like, dislike, or non-like someone or something?
As a reminder, you don’t have to like, dislike, or non-like anything I’ve said since I still hate you.
That much hasn’t change.