Here is what I hate about myself: I'm lazy.
No, really. My dream job would involve me sitting somewhere, getting fat, for money.
I hate that I'm not independently wealthy, and that I don't have a hummingbird's metabolism, and that Mary Poppins isn't cleaning my house.
I want an army of servants with very specific job titles, like "Bug Crusher" and "Toilet Unclogger." There should also be "Doritos Wrangler" and "Oreo Untwister."
My laziness keeps me from experiencing my life to the fullest. Henry David Thoreau--who was, by the way, SOOO lazy, but at least he made a living of it, even if his living consisted of rationalizing his laziness, that bastard--would judge me so hard.
It's not laziness alone that is so crippling (IT'S A DISEASE, OKAY), but the laziness coupled with my world class procrastination skills. Seriously, I am like the Michael Phelps of procrastination. I would totally win gold medals, if I ever got up off this couch. Or wanted to.
Anyway, laziness plus procrastination equals me being late for everything, all the time, and I can't stand tardiness in anyone, even myself.
It's an avalanche, is what it is. Or the butterfly effect, if the butterfly never fluttered its wings at all and decided to take a nap instead.