I keep waiting for the giant red patent leather shoe to drop. The crimson stiletto of Valentine’s Day Single Girl decompensation. I keep waiting for a big, obvious reason to start bawling. I don’t feel like that sounds all that fun, really, though. I basically would be outright abusing myself to demand that I have “a good cry” for the sake of having one; unpacking and shitkicking all my emotional garbage about the room isn’t going to free me at all. It doesn’t make a knock on the door happen and cause some magical stranger appear to fall head over heels for me on Valentine’s Day. Beating my head against the wall has never so much as made someone on the other side beat back, so what I’m achieving is a sore head and that’s about it.
Also, I’m ignoring all the histrionics I’m hearing (which I guess, is only from one person and it’s kind of what I expected so..) and I’m not watching TV. I’m just not buying in. This year, it actually made me laugh, the swarm of men in sweatpants, kids trailing behind them, eyes obviously agog and reeling with sugar highs, determinedly seeking the floral department at the grocery store trying to buy the last wilted bouquets of roses in the case. Someone walked out with a vase full of white roses, which I have to imagine is not going to be as effective as he hopes, or maybe there’s some unfortunate funeral. Of a virgin nun. White roses?
They all just know they have to do something and they’re mentally gauging their bank accounts and what the woman will be pissed over and they’re rumbling about how she never fucking gives them anything and she’ll probably complain anyway, but it’s Valentine’s Day and that’s the law and so they shell out the money for some flowers that’ll be dead in a week.
For the first time, I feel honest when I say if that’s what this holiday is conventionally about, if that’s the most we can expect, opting out doesn’t feel so deflating. I’d much prefer celebrating radical self-love. Which I can fearlessly say involves all definitions of that word. I have healthy, good food (as well as a breakfast cupcake provided by work) for dinner, I’ve got exercise to do and some laundry which I may or may not feel super into, I’ve got my words and my friends and I’m on track right now. I got a full larder and a clear, if tired, head.
I just don’t see the use in acting out, I’ve spent years doing that and it hasn’t shifted the playing field at all for me. Pizza and cake and gummi bears do not bear impact on the goals for this year, if anything they set the timetable back. It just doesn’t honor this spirit to coat it, bread it, dump it in hot oil and leave it to settle.
We’re moving on.
I’m just saying that you are still today what you were yesterday and will be tomorrow: a worthwhile person.