My desperation to be liked is bringing me down. It should have to take its place in the queue along with all the other down-bringing shite, but no, it's barging its way to the front, kicking rejection, self-pity and crippling fatigue out of its way as it goes.
I have few enemies. Fewer friends, naturally, but still few enemies. If I had some kind of gnarly, mutated, twenty tentacled claws on the end of my arms then I could certainly count them on one hand. This lady is one of them. For more than a year now, since her misguided and tragically futile attempt to humiliate me in front of a room full of spinners, we have been firm foes. She has been giving it loads in the dressing room, on the gym floor. Bitching about me, dissing my hugely popular, over-subscribed classes, being the mad as a box of hammers cunt basket that she was surely born to be. I know this because of all my female allies and spies, the gym ladies who would be Gimme's were Gimme not already given. For my part, I have restricted myself to the entertainment of countless tyre-slashing, protein-poisoning fantasies.
And now, out of the filthy grey, she's changed her fucking tune. She's started showing up at my classes, saying hello, not spending the entire hour sighing dramatically at her disappointment at having voluntarily submitted herself to my exercisily whims.
So clearly the thing to do here is to maintain a professional demeanour. Speak politely when spoken to. Not tell her to fuck off you horrible shit-kicking bully. And this I have done. Not once since this Bush-like flip flop have I called her a cunt or asked her why, if she spends so much time exercising, she's still such a horribly fat fuck. And that should be enough, right?
Nu huh. Not for Gimme. I haven't been fawning. Not quite. But pretty fucking close. Compliments. Personalised encouragement. The playing of tracks that I'm aware she likes. It's pathetic, but the feeling of being intensely, intensively disliked has bothered me so much that I find myself doing everything in my power to prevent it from happening again. I justify this to myself by thinking 'Bygones, dude. She's not so bad. It's okay to give her a chance', when clearly these gones are still very much present, she remains a horrible harridan who deserves not so much a chance but a swift axe to the nose bridge.
This is no mellowing. This is a pathetic weakening, a surrendering of a core belief that I hold dear.
If I cannot hold on to my hate, then what's left?