Last year my great aunt died, and I wrote about it on Valentine’s Day.
I would like to be the sort of person who can ignore Valentine’s Day – just, not notice it, the way I basically don’t notice Groundhog Day. So far, I have not turned out to be that person.
This year I bought myself roses, to see how it would feel. It feels like I have 24 deep red roses looking incongruous on my blue-and-white tablecloth in my yellow kitchen.
I suspect it would feel different if somebody else bought ’em, but that was not what this experiment was about. They’re nice, but expensive. I don’t think I’ll do it again soon.
I will spend today in solitude. I hope I’ll get a little work done.
Last year also somebody threw rhubarb at me on Valentine’s Day, in my acting class, and I did not get to give them a hug afterwards, but I would have.
I lived in a different house then. I spent a lot of time sitting right in front of the heater. I burned the backs of some of my sweaters. I don’t do that now.
I think what I would like very much is to be loved publicly. But I don’t know if it’s true because I don’t think I ever have been (except one time somebody threw a surprise party for me, and that felt like their love was powering this whole event that other people were involved in, and that felt really good). Mostly the people who love me tell me, somewhere unobtrusive like the sidewalk or in bed or in the kitchen, that they adore me.
That’s not about Valentine’s Day, particularly, though. Just a thought, which the Internet has brought to me this morning.
I think I would be flattered if somebody told me somewhere where everybody else could see it, too. Dear world, they would say: there is this girl and I think she’s just magnificent, I think she’s the bees knees, and I hope I keep thinking so for a long time, because it’s fun as fun can be.
I used to have partners who used to do that, but mostly they stopped by the time they were with me. It was luck of the draw, that way.
One week ago exactly somebody who loves me made me a sweet dinner, and I wore a nice dress for it, and we made a watering can out of a coffee tin and some copper tubing (which we have discovered leaks just a little). In one week exactly, I think I may surprise this same person.
But today is a day for being alone, and not ignoring Valentine’s Day, and not being mad at it even though it is probably more stress and bagage than it’s worth.
It’s just a little holiday. We don’t even take off work for it. If I am not mad at Groundhog Day, it’s not fair to be mad at Valentine’s Day.
Maybe just a little lonely, in an ok-sort of way. That is how I’ll be about Valentine’s Day, this year.