Lately I have been harboring a hatred.
In the process of being a Mature and Well Rounded young woman, i usually define my progressions of growth by my ability to let go of anger and be at peace with something or someone. But this time, with this specific person, i fervently and adoringly have abandoned this pervious notion of goodwill and bullshit for something that has been far more useful.
"Moving on" is too fluid, its too clean and wavey. It cannot be used to anything, it is a neutral state of being and a careless one. Good for things that actually matter. Good for times when stability is the best answer. But when you live in a college town, racked with instability and ridiculousness, moving on doesn't fit in. It doesn't quite do the job. it doesn't give you that sweet, perverse satisfaction.
Meanwhile hatred can be gleaned and harnessed. It can be carefully nurtured until it is as beautiful and edgeless as a pearl. It is a much more interesting way to pass the time, daydreaming gruesome scenarios of acid shits and monumental failure than a potentially happy ending that in all likelihood will never happen. A favorite authorial phrase, "Her features, once beautiful were now ugly, twisted with hate..." is such a lie. Such a quick insertion of myth to discourage the feminine reader from feeling excatly what she should if she wants to remain beautiful. fuck that. I have never seen a woman so beautiful as one that set her x boyfriends guitar on fire and danced blithely around it. Who were the hateful women: Ann, Marie, Cleopatra, Edie, Sara Palin. You may not like them, but no one can deny their appeal. God Bless the woman who fuels on hate.
With my newfound and surprisingly ongoing hatred, i have never been more productive. I have learned to control it, and enlist it when i want to feel powerful or strong. I know how to trigger it. I can rile myself to a state of happiness, diligence, snarkyness, bad-ass/ness...most things. It has become my all purpose emotion. Except for wallowing. One thing my hatred cannot do for me anymore is to allow me to wallow. Which sometimes i miss, bc a nice documentary and vodka tonic are two of my favorite things.
My hatred takes me running, its blow dries my hair nicely, sometimes even straightens it. It puts out my cigarette, it writes my papers and electrifies my readings, it talks to boys. It wears my best dress out. It is my newest and most interesting companion i have had in a while. It lets me know just when it feels badly, in the most exciting ways.
At the end of the day, when this is all a big joke, i will still remember the good times my hatred and i had together. When i eventually let it go, it wont be without a slight regret. But for now, while it is still intact, I couldn't be more enthused at the prospect of seeing red tonight.