Brain

My brain hates me. 

He doesn't just dislike me. If he saw me out in public somewhere, he wouldn't just avert his gaze. He would  plot an elaborate scheme to murder me involving apple juice, rubbing alcohol, and spiders all while muttering nasty things under his breath, like how I'm nothing without him and how I should go die in a ditch.

Fortunately, he kinda sorta needs me somewhat in a way that if I were to die, he'd probably die too. So instead, he makes me miserable in a great number of non-lethal ways. He forgets birthdays I want to remember. He messes with my emotions. He makes my muscles twitching incessantly when he thinks he's being over-worked (or he's bored).

He's particularly fickle when it comes to academics. I've come to find that the majority of the time, he cooperates when it benefits him. He enjoys learning new things since, face it, he can't really do much else for fun. He usually helps me on tests and stuff too, since if I do well, he gets more informative fodder. But on some odd occasions, he just decides to stop working during important tests or activities that you would think he'd benefit from. I think he does it to make sure I know who's in charge.

He flexed his figurative muscles during the SAT when I was doing the timed essay. He held a good idea just out of reach, sometimes throwing little parts of it out for me to grab, but not enough to build anything out of. He single-handedly kept me from getting over a 2000. That jerk.

To keep me in constant fear of essays of the timed variety, he's done that with one I've had since then.

If I were to have a conversation with him, it'd probably go like this:

Me:  'Sup, Brain?

Brain: I hate you.

Me: Yo, I know, dude. That timed essay yesterday? That sucked. Not cool, man.

Brain: I know, it was awesome, right? You like failed totes. Big time. Good times, good times.

Me: You make me sad.

Brain: You bet I do, sucka!

What a dick.

...So to speak.