Hate

I used to not hate people.  But now I hate people.  Can you guess who I hate the most?

It isn’t the grandmother who has the privilege of taking her grandson to violin lesson, the one I always see when I come out of Mia’s lesson. No doubt, it is a privilege she doesn’t even fully appreciate.

It isn’t even the old lady with a cane who criticized me for taking a seat at the front of the bus reserved for the disabled and therefore depriving a man hobbling down the aisle forced to take another seat a few feet away – I shut her up when I screamed at her that I have Stage IV cancer and yanked at the neck of my t-shirt to show her and everyone else on the bus the unmistakable bump on my chest under which lies my mediport.  I wanted to scream something more about my legal blindness, making me disabled on yet another level and entirely entitled to that seat in ways she could not possibly understand and that she should go fuck herself.  But the presence of my older daughter beside me stopped me.  (My poor children.  They have been so traumatized by me and no doubt will carry with them confusing and humiliating memories of their angry mother acting like a stark raving lunatic on this and many other occasions.  I hope they will understand that the rage was rooted in a deep love for them.)  More