The reason I hate so much is because I’m happy.
Other people are so unhappy with their lives that they find it meaningful to strive for contentedness. Me, I’m different. Contentedness seems easily attainable, so instead I must attempt to achieve some utopian ideal of life. This causes me to be nit-picky and these nit-picks are the subject of my hate. I can’t strive for contentedness or comfortability because if that were my goal, my goal would be achieved. And once your goal of life is achieved, what is the point of living?
This is my anti-suicide plan. By hating each little detail of life that I find a little less than perfect, I tell myself that I must continue living until, hopefully, my dreams come true. That’s why my goals cannot be reached, for if they were doable, than there would be a foreseeable end to the purpose of my life and therefore my life itself.
So, go ahead and marry young and get that job you now have decided you would have always been comfortable having, I will be complaining about how things aren’t the way I like them because I’m happy and you are sad. You can strive for comfort, whereas I must strive for utopia.