I don't like you.
I don't like you touching my stuff.
I don't like you talking to me.
I particularly don't like you talking to me in the morning.
I stare at you with daggers
and slack jaw
yet you persist.
I don't like sharing a cube with you.
I don't like sharing a wide open space with you.
I am pretty sure I wouldn't like sharing a prairie with you.
I don't like being forced to listen to your Nigerian YouTube comedic adventures.
I don't like that you don't use headphones.
I strongly dislike that your response to "don't you have any headphones?"
I don't like mornings.
I don't like you calling me on my personal cellphone.
Moreover, I don't like you calling me on my personal cellphone early in the morning.
I most certainly do not like you calling on my personal cellphone early every morning.
In particular, I don't like you leaving voice mails on my personal cell phone every morning.
I don't like voice mails.
I don't like your voice mails even more than I don't like most others.
I dislike paying 60cents daily in daytime minutes to hear your elongated and ultimately useless morning reports in voice mail form
only to have to suffer through them again in person when I arrive at the office.
Much like the 360 precious days before my baby brother arrived, I liked it better before you got here.