Ten-minute hate

12 08 2009

I hate everything.

I warned a friend who’s visiting next week to remind our other friend that New York is a dump. I then recited my usual list about smells, cockroaches, smells, rats, smells, overheated train platforms, and did I mention smells?

My life sucks, I grouse to the cats, slouching around my apartment and glaring out the window at the sun.

Fuck Bank of America. I pay my goddamned bills—I pay more than the minimum—and now they’re jacking me around?

And what the hell is that man doing beating the hell out of the fire escape? Removing rust, apparently, but not with what one would think would be the sensible tool of a chisel, but with a hammer. A hammer! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!

He goes up the escape, he goes down the escape. Up, down. Up, down. The first time he made it down, I thought, Finally, he’s done. Nope: Up, down. Up, down.

Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!

God, I fucking hate everything.

My apartment is a soup, filled with Bam! Bam!, rust chips (from the Bam! Bam!), and air so moist I need gills to breathe.

I have words in my head I can’t get on to paper (or, in this case, the computer screen).

I have words on paper—books I want to read—that I can’t keep in my head.

Girlfriend? Boyfriend? HAH!

I gotta get out of here, I confided to C. Everything sucks. It’s got to be better somewhere else, right? Right?

She sipped her beer and raised her eyebrows.

Yeah, yeah, I know, I sighed. I get unhappy, I want to move. But where am I going to go? Where the hell else can I go?

She sipped her beer and raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders.

She let me rant.

I hate everything, I growled into my beer. Fucking August.

Yeah, fucking August, she repeated.

I perked up. Yeah, yeah! August! August sucks!

Blame August: that’s the ticket!