It’s 2:47 a.m. I have this overwhelming urge to write my hate list: things I tell myself shouldn’t bother me, but they do.
The dog (above) is not my dog, but I’d like to pretend she is transcribing my thoughts and will curl up beside me on the bed, soon.
a few of my least favorite things
When longtime friends misspell my name. It’s four letters, dude.
Chain letters. Or the likes thereof.
Black Lives Not Mattering.
The worship of wealth.
Artificially scented everything.
The sound of DT’s voice.
Group texts with more than four people.
What passes for good writing on Medium.
Unmuted zoom mics.
Pigeon pose (the only benefit to missing yoga class).
Pictures of wounds, surgical incisions, or tortured animals.
Daylight Savings Time.
Cookies or candies in ice cream.
The rise of boomer-bashing.
Love, money, or any kindness with strings attached.
Requests for the most recent “green” photo on my phone.
What passes for news/the death of journalism.
Sorority-half-squats in a sea of blonde girls.
Plastic surgery to be prettier.
“Thoughts and prayers”
Profits over people.
The corporatization of education.
The one and only answer.