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