Stuff Rachel Fucking Hates: Finals Edition

Finals. Obvs. I’d like to go into that a little more specifically, though: I hate how I have a paper to be working on every single day, and Heather apparently has nothing to do at all. She is out getting cabbaged, and I am in here writing a paper about how Chicana poetry intersects with the queer movement, only five hours after turning in my last ten-page research paper. (Heather, I picked out the most ridiculous and esoteric euphemism for drunkenness that I could, just for you. Like, I had to use Google to find it.)

Racism. Ok, I know that is not a new one. But the ten-page research paper I just mentioned turning in was on slavery, and I have been hating racism with renewed vigor ever since.

That my legs will never look like Beyoncé’s. There was a point in time earlier this week when all I could do was watch the video for “Diva” on repeat and weep softly.

Ambiguous weather. I have lived in New England my whole life and I should probably just get over this; every single fucking season here brings something new to hate. But today, it was doing that thing where the weather is exactly in between every normal temperature so you can essentially never be comfortable ever. Like, I would have been kind of chilly without a jacket, as there was a breeze. But when I put one on, I just felt overheated and kind of menopause-y; like, hot flashes. Additionally, it was not raining, but just kind of misting; like the “fresh food” displays of fruit and vegetables at the supermarket that get sprayed every fifteen minutes so they look dew-kissed. The effect was that it would have been silly to carry an umbrella, but you ended up feeling kind of uncomfortably moist all day. Fuck you too, May.

Stop fucking talking to me about swine flu. You’re not going to get it.


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