San Valentino
That would be a good name for a
Southwestern small city.
Satisfied singles day is, apparently, the Eleventh of February. Or, so sayest the great and powerful weekly-calendar-of-school-events.
That selfsame calendar also asks that all 'single guys and ladies' raise their hands and be proud. Which, of course, is completely ridiculous, because every little thing in our culture is painfully and accurately (in archer's terms, at least) focused on happy people being in love around this time of year.
But, while I'm not sure I might call myself a satisfied single, I am surprised to note that I am, at the very least, accustomed and apathetic to my current status.
This, in and of itself, is particularly disconcerting and nerve wracking. I have always been fiercely dependent on my relationships. Not necessarily my romantic ones (this statement should, more accurately, be written in the singular), but at least in general.
Thus, I am almost frightened to note that, on this day, I am actually quite all right with my complete lack of any readily available friends, let alone love interests.
Now, admittedly, I did send someone flowers. This was more folly, fun and promise than anything, on the grounds that I had stated definitively (around the 21st of Feb, 2008) that the aforementioned recipient (who undoubtedly knows who they are by now), would receive an overwhelming and by all means imbecilically large gift on Valentine's '09. Imbecilically, by the way, is not a real word, but is the adverbial (that being a real word) form of imbecilic.
I, for one, feel that these flowers are more or less responsible for my current state of apathy, having taken a veritable flood of emotion to send, because they were unreasonably expensive and something had to overpower my budgeting logic. Actually, the flowers were cheap as you could (and most likely could not) imagine, considering there are three dozen of them. The shipping, however, was outrageous, costing more than half of the flowers themselves. Even after my shiny paypal discount, I still had to resign myself to the fact that I meant I wouldn't be buying that necklace from Nayrusaki's shop any time soon. This is probably a good thing, though, because between the pentacle and the rosary, my mother would have killed me.
So, having exhausted my emotional budget for at least two weeks, I am here, writing this tidbit of nonsense.
At least it's something to do. I am suddenly exhausted by my life. I readily acknowledge that, considering several possible alternate lifestyles (for example, one in which my mother decided to stay in the Arab nations with my father, rather than move to America) I could very easily be in much more painful and restricted a life than I currently lead, and certainly a much more stressful and dangerous one, I still feel as though I pay out an inordinate amount of effort for mediocre rewards.
It should not, for example, be as hard as all this to simply write one page of pointless ranting about my own apathy towards relationships, and yet, look how far off topic I have already strayed.
I find myself wishing quite often that I could just lie down, go to sleep, and not wake up anymore. Maybe a nice, long coma. I think I could do very well in a coma. Of course, I would never condone a coma, because it would cost my family too much to keep me in a hospital for all that time. So, perhaps I should look into a vacation, but, of course, I am only a college student and I get more vacations than any other working class demographic in this world. I only work seventeen hours (in theory) a week. Seventeen.
I should be well rested and ready to take on the world bright eyed. I want a real vacation. I want to go somewhere, with only a close soul or two, and spend a week in limbo, being happy and not having any responsibilities. Not worrying about my mother, not fearing my teachers, not staring down homework assignments so large and pointless that it hurts to imagine them.
Obviously, I am eighteen, going on eighty.
Also, I believe I am slightly more filled with emotion than when I began this- though only slightly- because now I miss being happy again. Not as much as last week, though, so at least there's that.
I leave you now with another bit of valentine's poetry, this one much more specific. If I had room, I would have left it in the card on the flowers. But, there was a limit of 100 or so characters. Also, I can't say I can bring myself to feel as I should feel while publishing this (written well before the flowers were ordered), but in all honesty, I would conclude that is for the best. Perhaps it will serve as an explanation for why my usual creative bullet train of at least two vignettes a day seems to have come to a grinding halt (I'm afraid it's not the vintners and their fragile grapes this time).
Santa Val
In you lay
Blissful Alyssa, two parts cheer and one part sloth
Proud Klara, whose abandonment can kill
Bound Samantha, for without your support, I could not succeed
Wise Verites, able to see what others do not
Exuberant Cyrano, who makes others feel guilty of manipulation
Bright Cen, a friend to all, but dangerous nonetheless.
Many times, I have tried- failed- to tame you
To make you mine.
Still, as I have said before, will say again:
May you always have love, my most precious friend