I hate my body. I hate my mind. I hate money. I hate most people. I hate how hard everything has to be - espedcially when it doesn't have to be.
I hate the word and notion and feeling of hate.
The best things I ever created hate me now, too.
Most of the other important things I've done or created have disappeared from my memory and the world.
No one remembers my art or my music or my name.
I am on the cusp of fifty years being an active participant of life. Just moving closer to death.
Then I look over at my dog or pet her while she's in my lap or throw her toy and watch her go get it and bring it back.
It makes me hate everything else even more.
Maybe someday I won't wake up.