Hatred

On Thursday, I had a bio test that I had to do.  I, of course, had no desire to take it.  At all.  My solution to the problem was to ask if people hated me.  If they did, they could ram my head into a locker or wall.
I asked several people.  None of them said that they hated me.  I ended up taking the bio test, but I continued to ask people afterwards.  No one said that they hated me (some did, though they were rather sarcastic).  I'm not sure what I was expecting; I usually get along with people.  If people truly do hate me, they don't show it.  But I asked anyway.  I asked a lot of my friends.  I even asked people I didn't know.  One of my friends assisted me in this, though I'm pretty sure she was doing this to prove her point (that no one truly hated me).  I even asked a friend that doesn't even live in Colorado.  Of course, it would have been pointless to ask, since he probably wouldn't be able to come simply to bash my head into a wall, but I asked anyway.
When he answered, he asked if I was being for real and why I was asking.  I explained it to him and he said that I shouldn't ask such a thing.
It then hit me.  He was right.
I thought it about it.  I then realized that it was probably asinine to ask everyone if they hated me.  It was probably a bit insulting and annoying.  And it was probably pointless.  Because I came to the realization that I was asking the wrong people.  No, I don't mean that I should have asked different people.  I mean that I was asking people whom I love.  I love all my friends.  I don't know some of them that well, but I still love them nonetheless.  These are the people with whom I've laughed, cried, and had some of the best times in my life with.  The fact that I was asking them if they hated me, even if it wasn't serious, was something silly.