In my younger, more volatile days, there were many things I hate and could oft be heard referencing as my “most hated thing.” War. Oppression. Collingwood. Corporate injustice. Social and economic inequality. Nelly’s Band-Aid. Keep in mind, that’s a thoroughly in-exhaustive list.
Shamefully, I recall wearing them as something akin to a badge of honour. I would proudly stand opposed to things I hated. By extension, I was not something I hated and my teenage brain was spared (more or less) the indignity of hating itself.
Ostensibly, this appears standard practice for the self-indulgent juvenile.
The hatred attached to aforementioned issues began to rescind as the years went by, falling lightly off of me like leaves off a tree.
Inertia and the need to adjust (read: conform) to adult life allowed me the opportunity to regard them as mild annoyances. Problems for other people, if you will. Things to thumb a nose at whilst seated at the stool of one of any number of gentrified locations over a boutique beer and moderately overpriced counter meal.
Unbeknownst to this author, said meals and beverages accumulated unquanitifiable amounts of toxins within my body. This year, to date, these toxins have contributed to my contracting of gastro (twice), the flu, numerous colds and, wait for it, shingles!
Each additional toxin seemed to pair with it a brick to add to my wall of apathy. Previous passions, interests and beliefs were hid behind a routine of over-indulgence of alcohol, terrible food and yuppy life.
As far as hypotheticals go, my recently-engaged detox (which I have previously written about in this post) surreptitiously disguised itself as a wrecking ball and hurried posthaste to this wall in my psyche.
Consequently, precious embers have been relit.
For one, I have been involved in several rallies of late against the government’s terrible recent (ha) policies (though nothing will likely remove my aversion to mindless, repetitive, unimaginative chanting).
You’ll be glad to know, also, that my hatred has returned. Unimpeded by the spreading of the hate, it has returned with sole focus upon one object. One target only in its sights.
This hatred, ironically, rests solely in the direction of a crucial element of my detox – a green powder which, once dissolved into water, must be twice-daily ingested into my body. The taste. The texture. The smell. The rage! To taste it is to feel the icy cold fingers of your worst nightmare ripping out your insides.
It is a necessary part of my detox.
It is the single worst thing in the world…