The Things I Hate About You

I hate the way you talk to me

…and the way you answer my ques­tions, or when you don’t. I some­times wish that you would respond like a nor­mal per­son. That thing you do when you don’t like to talk about a cer­tain top­ic? You either flat out ignore me, or ran­dom­ly shift to some­thing else. You told me you love it when I’m being open and expres­sive, but I feel like it makes you uncom­fort­able and you clam up. I get it, you have this empa­thy switch that is sel­dom on. It makes me want to throw my phone at you. Who is the rubik’s cube? Raise your hand, Chris! Case in point:

Enter a cap­tion

Me: Stop doing that to your ear!

Chris: Do you wan­na blog about me?

I know I was absent when God was dis­trib­ut­ing patience but you can real­ly be frus­trat­ing and I end up con­fused. I feel that I have a bet­ter chance with the wall respond­ing to me if I try to talk to it than you. I sel­dom pray but do you know that I pray about you? It goes like this:

God please grant me patience when Chris is being weird­er than usu­al. Actu­al patience, not sit­u­a­tions where I can prac­tice patience. I’ve had a lot of those and they don’t seem to be work­ing. While you’re at it, include wine & humor, so that I can just roll my eyes at him & accept the things I can’t change. 

I’m real­ly try­ing here babe.

And the way you cut your hair

loved this look!

…that was way too short! You cut it to make you look pre­sentable. Cor­nered chick­en was my first thought. My Wolver­ine fan­tasies evap­o­rat­ed right then and there. Lat­er on, you looked like a kid who got caught with his hand in a cook­ie jar. Good thing your hair grows fast! I like it best when it is unruly.

I hate the way you read my mind, it doesn’t seem fair

You some­times say the most annoy­ing things that makes me think you are down­right dense, if I hadn’t known you were intel­li­gent. Then you say some­thing that seems like you lit­er­al­ly took the words out of my mouth. I get that you have brains. I wouldn’t be so damned attract­ed to you if you weren’t. But mind read­ing? I thought that was my realm.

I hate it when you think you beat me in our karaoke duel

I think you deserve a spot in the DSM (Diag­nos­tic & Sta­tis­ti­cal Man­u­al of Men­tal Dis­or­ders). You ruined Coldplay’s Yel­low for me. Your only redeem­ing fac­tor was you sang “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” (and your smize). The karaoke scor­ing was rigged in favor of vis­i­tors. I let you win because I was nice. This is not hubris talk­ing.

I hate it that you don’t like Game of Throneslots-of-people-dont-watch-game-of-thrones-lots-of-cunts

Game of Thrones is only the great­est TV show on earth. You belong to the 1% of the pop­u­la­tion that doesn’t watch it. I know, it sucks to be you but my heart dropped when I learned this. I mean, how could I be with some­one who doesn’t watch it?! I should have put “must watch Game of Thrones, not Rick & Morty” in my dat­ing pro­file. You were hap­py when the sea­son end­ed. But for some­one who hat­ed it, you were pret­ty updat­ed. Hmmm…

I hate the way you’re always right

What­ev­er. In case you for­got, what­ev­er is syn­ony­mous to “fine”, the true F word. I’m say­ing it not as an act of res­ig­na­tion— it’s like an elab­o­rate eye roll. I occa­sion­al­ly won­der if I should have cho­sen some­one dumb. But you can’t beat me at cross­words ever (and karaoke). And how dare you accuse me of using Google! You couldn’t stand it that I have bet­ter vocab­u­lary. Good thing you are good at Math— it’s a good bal­ance, we will have a brood of eru­dites.

I hate it when you lie

When we first start­ed talk­ing, you told me you hate liars or cheaters. I decid­ed then that I will con­tin­ue talk­ing to you, as we were on the same page.

There is a thin line between lying and not fol­low­ing through promis­es. I don’t blame you for this. I just hate that I set myself up for dis­ap­point­ment. I don’t think you are a liar (I hope not). I’ve had a glimpse of the good in you.

I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry.

I didn’t think it was even pos­si­ble that I could laugh and be annoyed at the same time. I don’t know how you do it, it is a tal­ent. I know it isn’t for every­one but I love your sense of humor. You would say some­thing fun­ny and sar­cas­tic, like when you called me weird? It was like the pot call­ing the ket­tle black.

The only time I real­ly cried was when I lost JJ. The mis­car­riage gut­ted me. The oth­er times that I felt like cry­ing was when I want­ed to stran­gle you for being dense and smart at the same time.

I hate the way you’re not around

This was most ampli­fied when I lost our baby. You weren’t here, and I so wished you were. You had no idea what I went through. I was heart­bro­ken but it could have been bet­ter if you were around. There are vary­ing degrees in miss­ing you — stuck between ihatey­ou and I miss you so much. I think miss­ing you comes in waves. Late­ly though, it feels like I’m drown­ing.

And when you don’t text me in the morning or before going to bed

What can I say? You made me needy.  I got used to you tex­ting me in the morn­ing and when you sleep. I’m not real­ly fond of grand ges­tures as it makes me a lit­tle uneasy. It’s the sim­ple things you do that make me hap­py. I can total­ly hear you mut­ter­ing “demand­ing” under your breath.

But mostly, I hate the way I don’t hate you, not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.

Have you noticed how I ask your opin­ion about things that mat­ter to me? I sel­dom do that because I drink and know things. I don’t even ask my mom’s opin­ions. I treat opin­ions as sug­ges­tions. It annoys me when they are forced upon me, or they come unso­licit­ed. But not you. I val­ue your opin­ions. I trust your judge­ment (except when you are drunk). If I ask your opin­ion, it could only mean that I think you are gold­en.

I don’t like many humans. Humans are con­niv­ing, snivel­ing, self­ish crea­tures. I pre­fer ani­mals. But you are my favorite human. I think you are per­fect­ly imper­fect, exquis­ite­ly flawed, almost like a beau­ti­ful­ly craft­ed dichoto­my. How could I ever hate some­one like that? I couldn’t hate you even when I tried.

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