On Hatred and Loathing in Hiram, Ohio

     A couple years ago, I wrote half of a serial I called Gainor Aikens. The title character had left his former life behind and gone out on the road to find himself. Sophomoric, yes, but I was 17. There was an episode in there where Gainor met a man in a bar who challenged his notions of what hatred and love were by pissing him off until he couldn’t control himself any longer and then asking him to be the godfather of his baby daughter. I don’t recall if I ever published it here, but I know I meant to.

     The reason I bring this up is because I’ve recently had my own boundaries pushed back a bit in the same regard. As for the love side of that coin, I’m so far gone in that department that it’s not even worth talking about, any more. It’d just be nauseating. But, as far as sheer, unadulterated hatred was concerned, I had yet to experience that. Until last night.

     I was sitting at my computer, trying to figure out how to write a Pig Latin translator (don’t ask) when there’s a knock at my door. I holler at them to come in, and I get a letter from one of the RA’s that works in another building. As I tear it open, my thoughts turn to the last time this happened, and how I very nearly left school forever (see whatever issue that was. I think January). This time is a bit different. It’s a notice that. . .aw, hell. I’ll just copy it for you, again:

Dave Dimbinski(sic)
216 Henry
Hiram College

Dear Dave:

     Attached is a copy of incident report in which you allegedly violated college policy. Specifically, the reports state that you may have violated the Student Code of Conduct Policies on Appliances (page 46 of Policy Handbook).

     You must schedule an appointment with me no later than 2/22/01 for a judicial conference about this matter. Failure to schedule an appointment will result in your being automatically held responsible for this violation and a sanction imposed. If you have any questions or concerns, or to schedule your conference, please contact me at xxxx.

     Thank you for your prompt attention to this matter.

Sincerely,
XXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXX

     Now, considering I don’t remember the “incident” that’s being referred to, I take a look at the copy of the report that came with the letter. Apparently I had, god forbid, used a toaster oven. Yes. A fucking toaster oven. This is the level of insanity I put up with here on a daily basis. Well, I’d had just about enough, so I went to bitch at the RA who reported this.
     I’ll spare you the details except to say that words were exchanged and I now want to kill her with my own, bare hands.

     This probably seems like something pretty silly to get killing mad over, and that may be true. I do not give a damn. This is beyond the issue, to the point of an absolute conflict of personalities. Never have I loathed the very existence of someone the way I do this girl. Certainly I’ve thought I hated before, but now, measured against the cool rancor I’m feeling, those were merely annoyances. True hatred is quite a different emotion altogether than simple anger.
     If we were crawling through the desert together, dying of thirst, and I had a canteen with enough water to save us both, I would pour it out onto the sand as she watched. If she were homeless and needed only a dollar to avoid freezing to death, I would hit her with my briefcase. If her dying wish were to hear one kind word from my mouth, I would smile and spit in her face.
     This is really quite extraordinary. I don’t like it, but it’s certainly something I’ve never felt before. I’ve tried all the ways I know to get rid of anger: breathing deeply, visualization, meditation, heavy drinking, etc. . . Nothing even came close. All that I managed to do was strip away the anger and expose crystallized hate.
     I’m not going to do what’s expected of me and try to rationalize my feelings and say that they’re wrong. I do not think there’s anything wrong with them. Right and wrong are illusions created by people to control how other people behave. People don’t like being killed, and so that’s wrong. People don’t like being stolen from, and so again, it’s wrong     It is impossible for a natural emotion to be wrong. It simply is; there is no quality that can correctly be attached to it.
     Here it is, 2:30 in the morning and I’m still writing this. By this point, the level of comprehensibility is probably damn near nothing for this mess, so I’ll end by advising anyone who hasn’t yet to take a look at their notions of what right and wrong really are, and to take their emotions and feelings at face value and nothing more. Oh, and as for you, Melissa Osgood, if I woke up tomorrow and you were dead, I’d do a jig.