I hate that I don’t love medicine to the degree I thought I would.
I love being home. In spite of Limerick’s apparent inferiority.
I hate the power food wields over me.
I love playing Mumford and Sons on the ukelele. And yes, I know that Mumford and Sons use a banjo, not a uke.
I hate my lack of motivation to be active or social.
I love my bed.
I hate the conflict raging between my intellect and my emotion.
I love the far superior cup of tea that a pot yields.
I hate obsession.
I love my sister’s no shit attitude.
I hate how uncertain all my once strong convictions have become.
I love when my Daddy sends me reassuring texts very late at night.
I hate the cold. And it’s always cold.
I love my mom. Unashamedly.
If only I could run away