and I hate the word 'hate'

OK, so I wrote this here a few hours ago. I guess I'm in a bit of a state.

"Sometimes I hate it here so much. I can't do anything right at school. I've just fixed up my 3rd version of this weeks lesson. We'll see if it gets changed again after my next class in 10 minutes. Nobody HELPS me with anything. I hate the little j-girls giggling all over downtown in their short skirts and tall boots and smart-ass pouts. I hate the rust and mildew on everything in the house. I hate the nasal "irashaimase" that everybody shreiks at you the second you walk in any shop. I hate that I feel like a hugely fat, ugly, frumpy, unmade, ungainly, old lady every second I'm here. I hate the food - the vegetables all taste on the verge of rot to me and the fish tastes like feet. Everythings either deep-fried or pickled. I hate the papers all over my desk, I hate the nasty coffee I'm drinking, I hate the little bean-stuffed cake somebody just gave me, I hate the hole in my sock. And I hate that the bell just rang so I have to go to another class and have the students and teacher look at me with blank stares. I want to go home."

Ahem. Sorry. So it's not all that bad. I don't really mean most of what I just said. I don't really hate everything. I don't really like it all that much, though, either. Especially the hole in my sock. I swear that 1 cm hole is making my feet colder. You know what I hate the most, though? That I feel so alien. And I hate feeling like I hate stuff.

You want to know the good thing? Last night I made gnocchi! Yes, I did! I made potato gnocchi and it was easy (kind of) then tossed it with some butter and cream and parmesean (and sage and nutmeg) and toasted it in the "oven" and served it with a marinara (made from tomato soup I made the day before) and garlic bread. It was really fantastic - you can ask Jesse, he ate til he was stuffed and then ate a little more.

I love him (and not just cause he likes my food).