36 You hate this day, this weather. You hate the blinding sun, the icy wind in your face. You hate November, the absence of clouds, sleep deprivation, sore throats. You hate that you feel this way, you hate seasonal depression, industrial towns, suburban traffic. You hate gas stations. You hate that the first pump rejected your credit card and you’re already running late. You hate that you procrastinate. You hate running late. You hate yourself for being incessantly tardy. You hate your job. You hate yourself. You hate making left turns onto bustling roads. You hate that man behind you. You hate his glossy-rose Cadillac. You hate the scowl he flashes through your rearview mirror… get a move on! You hate that you sympathize with him. You hate that you were too much of a coward to make that left turn, so you went right instead. You hate being scolded by your GPS. You hate getting lost. You hate poverty. You hate pawn shops and cigarette butts. You hate driving in the city. You hate being angry. You hate the inability to forgive. You hate clocks. You hate 2 PM—but you’re thankful for it. You know the traffic will get worse, and you avoided its peak. You’re thankful for staying off of the interstate, this time. You’re thankful that you can take the scenic route home. You’re thankful that these nearly-bankrupt shops are still here, surviving, standing. You’re thankful for that right turn because you didn’t have to make the left turn. You’re thankful for the second gas pump that accepted your credit card without a gimmick. You’re thankful for the sunlight dappling autumn’s last leaves—those fighters. You’re thankful for your job. You’re thankful for November’s bite of invigoration.
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