Valentine's Day Musings

It's fitting that I woke up this morning early, and surprisingly alert.

It's fitting that I had a good breakfast.

It's fitting that I had enough hot water to last an entire shower.

It's fitting that I found an outfit (quite a good one) in less than 10 minutes.

It's fitting that I left my apartment by 8:30

It's fitting that the sun is shining bright after two days of abysmal weather.

It's fitting that the trains were on time.

It's fitting that this day has started without issue, without drama, without something to make me remember what day it actually is. Nevertheless, I did remember what day it actually was as soon as I woke up this morning. Considering how much I hate today, how much I have hated today for the last 6 years, you'd think I would make myself forget today, but, you know me, the emotional masochist, so I won't ever forget it, only abhor it.

Friends have pointed out this year as a seemingly different Valentine's Day for me given circumstances, and, largely, they are right. This year is different. Unlike college, in which every February 14th was spent alone, or my senior year when I had someone but couldn't actually be with them, or last year when the one person I wanted wasn't available--emotionally, physically or geographically("but don't worry, you'll have him next year," I told myself)--this year is different because, though I won't have someone today, I'll have someone tomorrow, which is almost better in a way, because I need today to be what it's always been. I fell into the Valentine's Day rut years ago and never got out. In fact, after a while I just stopped trying. The digging and clawing against muddy, unsustainable walls that only pushed me deeper into an emotional furrow became quickly futile, and I had to realize that Valentine's Day just sucks. Routine got the best of me and rather than try and make the day into something it has never been or won't likely be in the future, I just resigned myself to letting it be a day I hate. So, today, call me a creature of habit. A Pavlovian manifestation. One who hates today because he can't remember what it felt like not to hate today. Of the few formulaic patterns in my life, this is one that, for now, will play out as it always has: I will operate today under somewhat robotic direction, with my chin up, my eyes forward, marching steadily through the gifts, the romantic dinners, the stolen kisses, the holding hands, the uncontrollable grins, the sex, the loathing, the sadness, the crying, the memory, and the desire to have what you can't until it has finally passed, and I can rest assured that for another year I won't have to remember how utterly failing Valentine's Day has been.

To love.

Seth