They Kinda Did, or At Least One of Them Will Be Gone by Friday

I started to think of a post, and it said, "there are few things I hate more than..." but then I stopped. Because there are so many different versions of hate. There's the kind we all understand like, "there are few things I hate more than spam comments on my blog", but there's also all the types of hate that we can't describe, or we can't let go of, or we love so much and hold on to maybe it's not even hate anymore. Maybe it's just that little bit of us inside that's not the watercolor, but the art that's made out of jagged metal and blood.

I don't know how to explain the hate I have for him, or how it's any more than the hate I have for the two of them--both together and each one of them apart--or the hate I have for those other two. Along with hate there seems to be a sense of sympathy because at least in my life I'm trying to make things make sense, and makes things have a reason so that maybe they don't hurt so much anymore.

Then there's the hate that's so beyond hatred I can't imagine how anyone would be able to express in a simple one-syllable word.

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Then we talked about cleaning, and knitting, and her friend being sad, and I worked against that man I dislike so strongly by being kind, and by offering help, and by giving a chance, so I feel better.

I think when I go home to cry, the tears will feel like relief, which is always better than fear.