Pardassus seur: amor
It was about this time last year that I had an epiphany.
I'd walked into the 23894387509238573091873th store plastered over with translucent hearts, wallpapered with Hallmark cards, and populated by frogs and gorillas with valentines (because obviously, nothing says "I care" like a large stuffed gorilla. Duh.) I turned to my mother and said, "Am I supposed to be comforted by the fact that the Crappy Commercialism Fairy hemorraged in here? I hate Valentine's Day." She regarded me for a moment, then said, "Life is what you take from it."
It threw me. From kindergarten on, I'd considered Valentine's Day to be a cruel holiday, one which didn't excuse you from school and on top of that forced you to give a valentine to the kid who ate glue all day and put blocks in his pants. (No names provided to protect the innocent.) Later on, I considered the holiday a slap in the ear to every unattached person in the world.
But that day in the store, I reached a decision. When Valentine's Day arrived, as some of you may remember, I wore wings to school and passed out candy.
It was a great fucking day.
So (very inarticulately, as I'm extremely tired) here's what I think: You can view Valentine's Day as a time when Hallmark owns your soul, when you can't escape the hearts and love and sappiness and you just want to commit seppuku. Or, you could see it as a day when you appreciate people. Consider everyone you love: your friends, your family, even people who simply hold the door for you--and thank them. Appreciate each moment. Life is what you take from it. Don't waste a day that underneath the debris is about an emotion that's beautiful and pure. You could reconcile an old wound with your parents or read a book with a sibling. You'll find that the time really meant something to you.
You may think that this is the most vapid and quixotic thing you've ever heard. You may believe everything I've said. It's your choice in the end.
In this entry I've turned off the IP logging. Write anonymously whatever the hell you want without fear of people knowing your identity. Tell me about your pizza-shavers, your Orpheuses, your Emperor Fabuluses, the people who make you completely dizzy. Tell me about something beautiful you saw on the walk home. Write about how much you hate this holiday and think I'm an idiot. I don't care.
I wore wings for a day. For a few moments, I evanesced into something strong and elemental. It was worth it to let go of old conceits, if only for a while.
I'd walked into the 23894387509238573091873th store plastered over with translucent hearts, wallpapered with Hallmark cards, and populated by frogs and gorillas with valentines (because obviously, nothing says "I care" like a large stuffed gorilla. Duh.) I turned to my mother and said, "Am I supposed to be comforted by the fact that the Crappy Commercialism Fairy hemorraged in here? I hate Valentine's Day." She regarded me for a moment, then said, "Life is what you take from it."
It threw me. From kindergarten on, I'd considered Valentine's Day to be a cruel holiday, one which didn't excuse you from school and on top of that forced you to give a valentine to the kid who ate glue all day and put blocks in his pants. (No names provided to protect the innocent.) Later on, I considered the holiday a slap in the ear to every unattached person in the world.
But that day in the store, I reached a decision. When Valentine's Day arrived, as some of you may remember, I wore wings to school and passed out candy.
It was a great fucking day.
So (very inarticulately, as I'm extremely tired) here's what I think: You can view Valentine's Day as a time when Hallmark owns your soul, when you can't escape the hearts and love and sappiness and you just want to commit seppuku. Or, you could see it as a day when you appreciate people. Consider everyone you love: your friends, your family, even people who simply hold the door for you--and thank them. Appreciate each moment. Life is what you take from it. Don't waste a day that underneath the debris is about an emotion that's beautiful and pure. You could reconcile an old wound with your parents or read a book with a sibling. You'll find that the time really meant something to you.
You may think that this is the most vapid and quixotic thing you've ever heard. You may believe everything I've said. It's your choice in the end.
In this entry I've turned off the IP logging. Write anonymously whatever the hell you want without fear of people knowing your identity. Tell me about your pizza-shavers, your Orpheuses, your Emperor Fabuluses, the people who make you completely dizzy. Tell me about something beautiful you saw on the walk home. Write about how much you hate this holiday and think I'm an idiot. I don't care.
I wore wings for a day. For a few moments, I evanesced into something strong and elemental. It was worth it to let go of old conceits, if only for a while.