dear rosi,


I write to you today with three years of swallowed emotion. since our last encounter earlier this week, I have been bursting to reveal my true feelings for you. alas, I can restrain myself no longer.


I hate you.


I hate you more than midterms, more than earwigs and more than pickles. midterms last only a few weeks, after all, and the taste of a pickle only a moment - but you, your spitefulness usurps my future. what is it about you that makes my blood pound? your grin? your plump belly? the way you sign me out every time I click 'back'? your utter disregard for my precious time comes to mind and I think back to first year, when it took almost six hours to enroll in my five courses. but no, it is the delight you take in keeping me out of the courses I need to graduate that makes me want to pluck those three hairs out one by one. (though I must admit, I am also puzzled as to why a pre-med psych specialist would want to take human anatomy or physiology of emotion.) I understand that servicing requests for 60,000 students is no small feat; however, seeing as you are a machine, you should lack the ability to feel the stress and anguish you so readily afflict on others. in mastering spite, you could have found the time to learn a little compassion as well.


now, as we approach our final year together, I wish to thank you for all you have done. in good times and bad, you were always there to pull the rug out from under me and ruin my day - unless, of course, it was outside your hours of availability. it was, in fact, you who taught me that web pages can close at night too, and you who proved to me that machines can conspire to ruin your life. next may, when I run shrieking with joy out of your life, my only hope is that you remember these words: from the bottom of my heart and the depths of my soul, rosi, I hate you.


with seething anger and wishes for a slow and painful death,
laura