Hate, Hope, Love

I hate feeling sick to my stomach all the time.

I hate feeling like the bad guy as a mom.

I hate the fucking drama that surrounds our hobby, my work and extended family. I'm fucking sick of it.

I hate stupid people that get their jollies off pushing other people's buttons. They are small-minded, insecure, hateful souls.

I hate that I have to post this anonymously where no one, not even my spouse, will probably read it; which really means I hate not having a voice that is heard.

I hate being misunderstood. I hate being unfairly perceived as something bad.

I hate the stress in my life right now. I hate being in pain constantly and I hate this fucking recession.

I hate being out of cigarettes. I hate that my kids don't know that I smoke and that I feel like I have to hide it, because it's the last and only thing that's truly hidden from them.

I hate it when I get negative like this. I really, really hate it.

I love my husband.

I love my kids.

I love the first cigarette of the day.

I love hope, because sometimes that's all you have to hold on to.

That little slip of paper with five or six numbers: Hope.

The promise of trying for another baby: Hope.

The phone call you know is coming any day now: Hope.

And while it may be that "The greatest of these is Love," Hope is a close second.