Bitch Ass Valentine's Day
Tuesday, February 13th, 2007Valentine’s Day is bullshit. And here’s why.
Yes, it is a Hallmark holiday and it is what everyone always says it is, which is ‘just another day.’ But one better than that, it’s a once-a-year reminder that we should give a shit about the person we claim to love. The person we share a bed with, the person who cooks for us, who puts up with our hormonal mood swings, who sees the movie we want to see, who thinks we’re beautiful when we’re disasterously sick, who picks us up when we’re crying on the bathroom floor. I’m talking about the person we yell at, are short with, swear at, or lie to. We don’t all do those things, I realize, but I do. I have. And I can tell you, it’s going to take more than ONE DAY to make him feel appreciated and loved by me. So, is a once-a-year reminder to be nice the answer? And if it is, do we deserve to have that person stick around?
Valentine’s Day is bullshit. And that’s why. It’s a reality check to people like me who should be nicer the other 364 days of the year.
This year’s ‘Reality Check’ finds me in Year Two of popping an anti-depressant, eating another self-purchased double-decker box of Godiva chocolates, making a cupcake run to Sweet Mandy B’s for three (count it, three) with pink frosting and sprinkles (because I devour the first in the car with the hazards still on and then eat the second because I ate the first too quickly and save the third for later as something to look forward to). I’m talking about another V-day (and I don’t mean Victory) of going to bed early–and without him.
What happened with Mr. Perfectly Imperfect you ask? I guess you could say we’re ‘having a time.’ Last year, he fucked up. This year, I fucked up. Or rather, there’s residual fuck up. So what does that mean? Got me. But I can tell you this…
BREAK-UPS SUCK ASS.
Before I get ahead of myself, I’d like to clarify that I don’t actually know if it’s a break up. But whatever it is or will be, it feels a lot like a crap shoot and it’s being played out week by week. And that seriously sucks. Especially with Bitch Ass Valentine’s Day breathing down my neck.
Fuck. That.
So, week by week, I’m finding more time for sleeping, and thus am ironically more rested. I spend more time at home, so I get my laundry done (all eight loads), can finally drop off my dry cleaning (and pick it up before a month rolls by), pay my bills on time, catch up on my stack of dishes, and take in a movie or two. I keep to writing in my journal and finally tackle that stack of books I just had to add to all the others I haven’t yet read. I indulge in another new pair of gorgeous and completely impractical shoes (thank you Jessica Simpson for those new open-toed black patent leather with tortoise shell heels, that I won’t be busting out this Wednesday however).
But week by week, it also means that I have even more time to think and to mope. It means despite being well-rested, I still look and feel like shit. It means I lose my sense of appetite and drop five pounds flat (which is actually bad). It finds me vacillating between excitement and melancholy at planned romantic events as they approach and then pass unacknowledged. I feel a loss for the affection I must have given as I long to hug and kiss and hold this person close. It means I crawl into my emotional shell, which by now is so familiar I should be calling it home.
Is this another break up? Have I just not met the one? Have I not yet learned what it takes? Or do I just keep making the same mistakes?
Bitch Ass Valentine’s Day. Ain’t that the shit.
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