If nothing else, the passing of Valentine's Day plants the notion in my head to take stock of the things I love. And going with the theme of my package of Star Wars valentines, where there's a light side, there's a Darth Vader dark side too to keep everything balanced.
For example, I love my family.
Conversely, I hate ABBA.
I love pajama days. On occasion, I still pretend the carpet is lava and leaving the couch will burn my feet. Jumping from one piece of furniture to another is exponentially more fun as an adult, because when you break that vase, it's your vase and you don't have to worry about the trouble you will get in “when your father gets home.” Furthermore, when you're twenty-four like me, you probably have a vase-free apartment in the first place. And if you don't, there's probably a dead relative in one of those vases, which you would care so much about, you would not allow it to be in the same room as carpet lava.
I hate when people cut across the yellow lines in the back of parking lots. This drives me insane. Especially since nobody ever seems to look all around. Driving is not something to be done with reckless abandon. I'm a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad driver and I've gotten this concept. Driving rule #1, stay out of a semi's blind spots. Driving rule #2, don't cut across the stinking yellow lines! They're there for a reason! All other driving rules can be winged.
I love asiago cheese.
I hate hangnails. Plus, for those of you who saw Black Swan... That was totally gross, right?
I love all of the new and fun technology that keeps popping up. Everything is just so fun!
I hate when people ask me to hang out with them someplace and I reluctantly agree (even though I was having a lot of fun at home playing with my cats, watching Dollhouse on Netflix and doing laundry) and then they spend the whole time text messaging someone else.
I love office supplies! Especially Post-It notes! I hoard office supplies like a some sort of buggy-eyed chipmunk. After I am the only survivor of the apocalypse, it will be years before I have to worry about finding a new supply.
I hate prejudice. Everyone is guilty to some varying degree. I complain about the continuing difference in wages between the genders, but I'm a hypocrite every time I assume that that Buick Regal driving in front of me going ten under the posted speed limit during perfectly clear weather with the turn signal on and no actual plans of turning is being operated by someone who is geriatrically-inclined.
I love jokes. Mean jokes, dirty jokes, disgusting jokes. Not practical jokes, though. Practical jokes always start out harmless, like mooning your coworkers. But they always escalate into horrible, mean-spirited pranks like dumping pig's blood on the prom dress of the unhinged girl with rage super powers.
I hate illness. Not the sort of illness that makes you throw up into a coffee cart garbage receptacle during your trip to Madison because Tibetan food is just not for you (although that's not really enjoyable, either).
I'm talking, of course, about the bad stuff. Everyone has to go sometime, I guess. But I just wish everyone could die healthy and old and in their sleep with a belly full of garlic mashed potatoes after all of life's aspirations have been accomplished.
This has all become a bit of a drag, so I will end on a love without a hate to balance it out. Take that, Darth Vador!
I love the people who have taught me how to live my life with hutzpah. My family who showed me to always have busy hands, try my best and at least look like I'm paying attention. The other people around me who are involved with writing, who never cease to amaze me. Two of my former teachers who still expect full reports of my activities, probably to make sure I stay on task. And, of course, Miley Cyrus.
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