No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction at anytime.
There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction,
a blessed unrest keeps us marching and makes us more alive than others.
-- Martha Graham to Agnes De Mille
Was || Will Be || Past Moments || Now || Notes

2003-02-14 - 12:44 p.m.

Valentine's Day? Choke on it.

Call me cynical.

Call me unromantic.

Call me a fucking bastard for all I care.

I hate Valentine's Day.

There, I said it.

I hate it, hate it, hate it.

Because when I'm dating someone in February (which I rarely am), there's just too much pressure. Last year RockGirl and I had a crappy Valentine's Day, where she didn't think I did enough for it, and I thought she was waaaaay too into it, and our idle conversation contained that first hint that says to you "this relationship is going to end, and end badly".

Most Valentine's Days I spend by myself, or out with my single guy friends ("Look, it's a pack of losers. Freeze! Their sense of smell is good, but their eyesight is bad.") trying hard to ignore all the moony-eyed young lovers around us.

When I'm not in a relationship, Valentine's Day feels like the world laughing at me. I'm not paranoid. I'm not. Sure, there's an NSA agent hiding under my bed, but he's been there for years. Besides, he gets Valentine's Day off to spend with his wife so they can laugh at single losers like me. I can hear them laughing now, and him telling her about how I rarely fold my underwear, and they'll bring out a list of every woman who's ever rejected me, and they'll laugh, and they'll laugh...


Deep breath.

I'm okay.

It's going to be okay.

Mom called. To nag me about asking out that woman she's trying to set me up with. And I told her "Yeah, I'm calling on Valentine's Day. That won't create ridiculous expectations." And Mom didn't get it. Because she wouldn't. And she got that hurt sound in her voice, and I very nearly hung up on her.

Damn I hate Valentine's Day.

I need a drink.

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