You know those days when nothing goes right? Perhaps you overslept and had to rush out the door looking like a complete baboon, or maybe you spilled coffee on your favorite shirt. Then you forget there's a test and breeze through not because the content is manageable, but because the words all look like crumpled jargon in the disoriented galaxy of your brain. The bad news just keeps layering on; it is the perfectionist's nightmare.
Sometimes, when days like this approach me, it is difficult not to instill a sense of hatred in my heart. A hate for all times complex, a hate for a certain class, a certain teacher, or maybe even a hate for the fellow classmate who stole your idea or asked too many questions.
Maybe the word "hate" is much too heavy to be used in the regular context of life, but its head uproots, if only briefly, when all the annoyances of the day meld together. It is only in that instant that we recognize its power.
History tells us that hate is an obscene concept created by man. But history doesn't happen until it happens to you. Only recently did I realize that hate for someone or something is the most despicable, and most uncomfortable feeling that has ever existed. It rises from its shriveled form and expands, inhaling all matters of emotion until one feels empty, the mere shell of the person present just moments before. My conscience is not clear, thus, I feel this acute pain afterward, and I question how much of a decent human I am.
We like to think of ourselves as good and kind and as normal as possible, but that brief moment when hate erupts makes us think otherwise. Will we ever have a time when that hate consumes our every positive trait? I feel as if there's an evil element embedded in everyone of us, only intruding on our dominant mental capacity for short spans of time. But it lies dormant, yet still present. And I think that foreign element of myself scares me the most.
