Ah, the scent of roses and chocolates is in the air again. Valentine's day once more gives us the chance to make up for not telling those we love just how much we care as often as we should.

Radio stations are running weddings, giving away diamond rings, even the telephone companies are getting in on the act, giving my fellow Aussies the chance to send up to 100 free SMS messages to people this morning.

Sure, today may be a nefarious plot to sell greeting cards and flowers, but who cares? I don't care who you are, somebody somewhere loves you. It may not be romantic love. Inded you may be single and believe that you don't need a partner to complete you. Spare a thought then for us poor romantic fools who love the chance to spoil our lovers for no better reason than that we can.

Is it such a bad thing to have a day devoted to telling those you love just how much you do? Do you see the shy smiles on the faces of the girls carrying bunches of flowers they were given today? The embarrased looks on the faces of the men carrying oversized teddy bears, roses and boxes of chocolates to give their lovers?

No, it's not such a bad thing at all. Seeing happy people is never a bad thing. Seeing happy people in love is the most wonderful thing in the world.

Happy Valentine's day, my sweet!

all my friends are heroin addicts...

I've been contemplating what to call this, other ideas were things such as "one foot in the grave", or "blue is beautiful", but I've made my decision, and I'm sticking to it.

Upon having a discussion with me, one will become aware of the fact that I am patiently, almost eagerly, awaiting my own death. While it may sound morbid and depressing, I assure you my reasons are sound. However, this is not the venue for such a discussion.

Though I may indeed await death, that should not be interpreted as meaning I have a dislike of life. I would never throw away my life, and I would never knowingly do anything to shorten the amount of time I will have to live. Such is me.

"I have seen the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving, hysterical, naked..." - Allen Ginsberg

I feel now as if I know what he was talking about. I think the reasons I never quite understood precisely what he was referencing was due to the fact that my mind was never quite as clear, un-occluded, as it is now. I would never, and must never, return to my old habits. I do not like the person I was, and will do all that is within my means to make sure I do no return. Unfortunately, I am weak-willed, and prone to giving in to peer pressure, and combined with a seemingly unnatural curiosity, makes my task more difficult. If it means ostracizing myself, then so be it.

There are no harmless drugs. While the reasoning for their prohibition may be rooted in the horrible racism of nations, their continued illegality is for more medicinal reasons. Or maybe not, but that still does not justify their recreational use. Maybe I'm making a big deal out of nothing.

From the DEA: "Marijuana contains known toxins and cancer-causing chemicals that are stored in fat cells of users for up to several months. Marijuana users experience the same health problems as tobacco smokers, such as bronchitis, emphysema, and bronchial asthma. Some of the effects of marijuana use also include increased heart rate, dryness of the mouth, reddening of the eyes, impaired motor skills and concentration, and frequent hunger. Extended use increases risk to the lungs and reproductive system, as well as suppression of the immune system. Occasionally, hallucinations, fantasies, and paranoia are reported.

Government sanctioned reports on the harmful nature of even one of the most "harmless" drugs. To allow cancer patients to smoke marijuana to relieve pain seems completely silly now. It's right up there with treating heroin addicts with a more addictive substance, such as morphine. It makes no sense.

All my friends are heroin addicts may be untrue, however, they are all recreational drug users. I can say with no amount of certainty how far that will go, and I can only hope it wont go far. Perhaps I never made my position clear enough, and my nostalgia impressed upon them the wrong ideas. I may fondly look back at my past, only as a stepping stone. A piece of the puzzle that makes me what I am now, and I am happy with who I am now. Perhaps they are as well. Now, whenever I am around them, I will have to wonder how clear they are thinking. I, on the other hand, am becoming more bitter every day.

It now occurs to me that their actions and statements are all results of their "terrible addiction". It makes me feel better to take the things they say, and make them said for the sake of jealousy. Much like how they take what I say. They take all my anti-drug sentiments to mean that I am jealous of them and their habits. I could imagine that they know I am right, and only lash out because of the inability to come to grips with that fact. These are all things which make me feel better, whether they are true or not.

now, I am outnumbered...

Many of my favorite celebrities were into it, in the same way my friends are. However, some of them are not. As it turns out, those who have remained relevant to this day, those who still continue to maintain the quality of their output, are "thinking straight". But I don't think it's a lack of clear examples which lead them to this point. I can't pretend to know how they got here, but I can speculate. If I had do so, I would say it's their own depression, their own lack of any meaningful output, lack of any methods of expression. I know this, because I know this. I may feel the same way, but the difference is that I refuse to use artificial stimulus to make myself feel better. I am free.

Have the best minds, in fact, been destroyed? They are staving, and naked, but they are not hysterical. The madness remains the only way to tell. But how does one gauge madness? I fear they have been swallowed by their own apathy. I fear that they are comfortable, and as such, unwilling to explore new avenues. I would wager that they will never stray too far from themselves.

I must remember, that I went through this too. Is it wrong of me to judge them for making the same mistakes that I, myself, made? Perhaps they too will realize their faults, and re-asses themselves. Should I afford them the leniency to do so? How far should said leniency extend in the first place? Perhaps by allowing it them, they will emerge, much as I am now. Either way, I hate to see them like they are now. They remind me so much of my former self that it disgusts me.

Some VD illogic for y'all.

I have nothing against the day anymore. My grandfather gave me 20 bucks and a card, and my English professor cancelled classes today. There are no chicks camped out on the front lawn waiting for me to make an appearance, but, shit, there never are.

VD is celebrated once a year. So are many other things, like Arbor Day, St. Patrick's Day, Lincoln's Birthday, Boxing Day, Vegetable Awareness Day....by contributing to this holiday, you are sending your loved one the following message: You are only as important to me as trees; leprechauns and getting trashed on green beer; a guy who was a decent President but's been dead for 150 or so years and hasn't done much for me lately; a weirdo Canadian holiday, and a vegetable.

(With apologies to the Canadians....I actually do dig your country. It's alot like ours, only colder, and your idea of bacon is pretty weird.)

VD should be celebrated all the time or none of the time, in my opinion. If you don't celebrate the rest of the year with equal enthusiasm for your loved ones, you may be in line for Freddo's first annual Sucking Shit of the Year Award. Bwahahahaha.

What a great day...

I know that you're supposed to celebrate your loved ones every 365 days of the year. Last year, however, I was down my local pub working on my carreer as a semi-pro heavyweight alcoholic. This year everything is different. I am so grateful for what I have and for having someone to share it with. That's why today is special. For me anyway.


There's got to be a word for how I'm feeling right now. I'm very disconnected...that feeling of a link between this event and that event in your past, or hell, even in your present, is getting very hard to find. I'm having a hard time remembering what day it is, where I am and where I need to go next, when the last time I ate was.

I'm sick, I couldn't eat for 48 hours (not sure if the cause was physical or emotional), and I'm recovering from...I hesitate to call it heartbreak (for that would mean admitting that I have one) but can't think of anything else to call it. The mental and the physical are intertwining, I don't know what's causing what feeling, I just know that it's not good.

Did I cry out my soul the other night? It sure as hell felt like it...

I just feel like I'm not even here.

Ups to my man cabin fever- bring that knowledge, dun!

Listening material right now: The Weakerthans' first album, Fallow. It's 5:57 PM on a pleasantly spring-like day. I'm exhausted, the Platonic Form writeup that I just noded was a paper due in today at 3:30- I wrote 1200 words in about 2 hours, off the top of my head, in a near panic. I sort of feel that writing a paper should be done like that, rather than having it be too methodical. You have to internalize what you're studying, let it confuse you, bother you, argue with it and then try to break it so you can build it up again. Sure, that doesn't *always* work, but I've turned out some really good essays like that.

That was not advice. Do not do it like that!

Spring break has started for me! I'm going to Montreal, Toronto, and possibly Ottawa with my friend Andrew Kilgour. It's going to be a blast. I haven't been to Toronto since I was a little kid, like 10 or 11 years old. Check for me on Speaker's Corner in a drunken stupor.

Also- jeers to Elvis Stokjo for not making that quad right off the bat. hahaha sucka!

Last night, I told Lisa that I wanted to be closer to her - she can only say that she likes me as a friend.

Today, the single biggest news story in Britain is that our fragile Queen Mother managed a helicopter ride from her London residence to Windsor Castle, after falling and getting a minor cut yesterday afternoon.

I don't have anything against the Queen Mother, I'm sure she's a lovely person. But our Newspapers and Tv news shows have jumped onto this and made it a major news story for the past two days. Showing paramedic cars rushing to the scene of the acident with their blue lights flashing, I bet they only had to put an Elastoplast on her, and a medium sized one at that! Then the helicopter coming into land, making out this old lady is the bravest of the brave. She'd be brave if she was actually piloting the thing. Her passengers would be braver still.

2/10 for effort guys.

It's all bubbling and simmering today, all the bits of my life rising to the top and showing their little aspects, plunging back into the depths to churn and roil together some more. Valentine's Day has always been a weird day for me, weird things happen, significant things. I'm not sure that today has had much significance, so far, but we'll see. I do know that its had some moments requiring thought.

I got my ear pierced on Valentine's Day, twenty-five years ago. I went in to get both ears done; my mom had been after me since first grade to get them pierced. I think she thought it'd ward off some of the tomboy tendencies I was inclined towards. But nope, I wasn't going for it. Finally I did go in, a friend was working at the shop doing the ears. I had the first one done, then I just knew that was all I needed, and I made them stop. No second hole. Now, for a man, this is no big deal, but here I am today with one ear pierced, and just about every month someone says, "Oh! You've lost an earring!" I put my hand to my ear, and no, it's still there. Just the one, I have to explain. It's 14g now, and I'm thinking it's about time to stretch it again.

The first multi-partner sexual encounter I ever had was on Valentine's Day. For some reason, it became a tradition for couple of years, even after I'd married one of the participants. So Valentine's Day was for lovers, as it should be! My current partner and I first started seeing each other on the sly, and as my marriage ended, I took up with this other man, my current partner. He and I don't have an anniversary, as such, for that reason. Somehow, this would always make me sad... no moment that was just ours, no day to celebrate being together. I would bring it up sometimes, try to institute a day for us, and he would laugh at me. "You have to have an anniversary of something" he'd say, "Not of nothing!" He never acknowledged Valentine's Day in any way, and I gave up trying to. Then three years ago, I found myself feeling inexplicably sad about this relationship/nonrelationship. Born in secret, continuing through numberless days, it all seemed so dumb! So dumb that I cared about years passing, and that he, who does love me, would refuse to give me an Anniversary. It spilled out all over on Valentines Day, I cried and cried and somehow he must have felt the pain, because the next year he showed up on Valentine's Day with an azalea in a pot, and a card which said, "For HoneyHoney, on the one year anniversary of the day she was so sad because we didn't have an anniversary." This morning I got a cyclamen, with the same card, for the three year anniversary. Why does this touch me so?

And now today. Politics mixes with love, loss, children, position. John Lindh's sister is in my Math class. Her parents are in Virginia trying to keep this son from being the poster boy for revenge on the Taliban. She came to me at the beginning of class with a construction paper Valentine, the name 'John' surrounded by doily hearts, pink and red cutouts glued with Elmer's. She asked if we could pass it around the classroom to sign it, she was going to send it to her brother. The kids all know who he is, where he is. They've been stellar to her, and she's been a trooper, doing her fractions, raising her hand in class, pale and tired every day. "Sure, we can." I agreed, "When we get to work time." Work time, and the card is passing hand to hand. I watch the kids sign. They glance over at her, talking quietly to each other. The last boy in the row signs, looks down at her, then over at me. He rises and takes the card back to her, smiling. She receives it gracefully, looks up to me. I beckon, take the card from her, and send my Valentine's greetings to the man so many would like to see die for his choices. I hear the whispers in the room, "She's signing it, Ms. V. is signing it..." Of course I am. Signing it for his sister, for John's humanity, for the kids in my classroom to watch as an adult makes a humane choice. In my heart I wonder about the boy who'll read this signature, and wonder who I am, an adult's writing in the sea of awkward penmanship. Doesn't matter much who I am.

Today was shit.

I think I can say that I have always hated Valentine's Day, always. Maybe that sounds really bitter of me, and I also know that the reason I feel the way I do is because deep down inside the crevice of all my thoughts and desires, I have wanted more than anything to be able to spend this day with someone special.

I mean, if I stop and analyze the whole thing it is quite amusing, as much as it may simultaneously hurt as well.

I am upset because I don't have someone special to share my life with at this moment. Then again, that desire or need has been planted into my head by endless movies, music, and other forms of propaganda, so why should I let it bother me to begin with.

That said, I should further conclude that this holiday shouldn't bother me at all.

I mean, it's just another money-making scheme, allowing for the stock value of Hallmark and all those fabulous E-card sights to boost for a couple of weeks.

So I ask, what is the point of Valentine's Day? Everyone knows that it shouldn't matter whether it is this day or that; random acts of kindness and love are more important, more genuine, and more special, than the recognition of some lame holiday. Perhaps I am just bitter, perhaps I should stop fucking complaining, and stop letting it bother me so much because letting it bother me, means that "they" have won and I have lost.

Perhaps it doesn't matter what I think or how I feel at all. But since no one else has really covered the obsurdity of today in the material above, I thought I might add my "two cents."

I'm going to go out and drink now.
Drink to no longer letting all of this shit bother me. Drink to being my own person and being happy with that. Drink to realizing my own humility and attempting to get past all of the shit that society throws in my face evey waking moment.

To all of you that have someone, to all of you that feel you are in love and are happy. I am happy for you, really I am.

I am not, I have to deal with it.

But I am tired of the illusion that just by being with someone I will be happy.

So today I am going to say goodbye to that. Goodbye to all the bullshit. Even if I know that tommorow morning when I wake up it will still be there.

It will still be there, driving me mad, making me cry, and making me angry at myself for allowing it to affect me in any way whatsoever.

I'd like to say that I think Valentine's Day is a bunch of bullshit, Hallmark Holiday that it is, but aside from that -

Congratulations to CmdrTaco!

It's a happy day when anyone gets engaged (and later married), but it's especially cool when a nerd gets married cuz god only knows what chick could take a front seat to running Slashdot ;)
i WAS about to have the first non foul valentines day ever. nothing had gone wrong. no prank valentines from 'friends' posing as 'suitors'. no nothing at alls, no being alone, no long distance relationship anymore. it was even good, as my love is starting to understand how to show sweet thoughtful gestures. i know he is this way, he always has been, but he's been very poor at showing it for years. but today was wonderful, he put thought and time into it. he took me out to a wonderful italian place for dinner, one nice enough to dress up for, which was a nice change. he gave me a beautiful statue of a black cat with metallic rainbow wings and red roses. it was wonderful and perfect and the best--hell, make that the only good--valentines day i've ever had. We got back from dinner and were hanging out in my room. And there's a pounding on the door.

It's the bomb squad. The entire buidling is being cleared. Someone called in a bomb threat to a fucking dorm. They herded everyone out very quickly, leaving most people with inadquate shoes or jackets for the cold. finally they sent us to another dorm to stay warm. and kept us there. and we waited. and waited. and waited. they at first had no idea how long. then 'an hour and a half' since they had to search all the rooms with bomb sniffing dogs. More waiting. Finally, they give the all clear, sooner than expected, and let us back in. Cranky, cold from walking back, and generally overall pissed, i finally got back here. A very bad ending to a very nice day. I just wish for ONCE i could have one valentines day where nothing at all went wrong.

I feel loved today.

Ed sent me flowers! <valleygirl>Like Oh My Gosh! I'm like so totally special!valleygirl> (yes I DO actually talk like that sometimes!)

Ed loves me. I knew this. We tell each other all the time. He's a little more real to me now though. See, I've talked to him on the phone a few times but I've never actually met him. He lives in Chicago, me in Southern California. We met online through a mutual friend.

Yesterday he was asking me lots of questions. Things like my favorite colors and stuff. Today I got flowers. They're so pretty, and the little card that he didn't sign but is still something physical from him I can hold in my hand. I'll probably keep it in my wallet. Something to remind me, when I'm feeling so alone, that someone really does care. He cares enough to figure out my address and send me flowers. I love him so much. He makes me feel loved and special and makes me smile and giggle like no one else can.

This afternoon I chaperoned my little sisters valentine day dance. My best friend was there too. My sister is 13 and in sixth grade. I didn't even see her much at the dance. She begged me to chaperone so me and my best friend, YellowFlower, did. They had little games for the kids. She worked the ring toss and I worked the little basketball game. Then we gave each kid that played candy...and ate a few ourselves. hehehe. It was kind of fun I guess. I was glad when it was over though. I'm just too tired.

After the dance, we went to Grandma's house to pick up our little brother. Then we all went home. YellowFlower came home with us and me and her, both of us are 20 years old, sat down and watched our favorite video. What video? VEGGIETALES!!! Silly Songs!!! I love Veggietales. She does too. After the video I took her home. My parents went out to dinner so it's just me and the kids home now. I just wish I wasn't so tired...I tried to sleep earlier and I couldn't.

Insomnia sucks!!!

So there's this girl...

It's a long (and uninteresting, really) story. I thought it would work out. I guess it still might. I don't know about that, all I know is that she's with someone else now and really seems to like it. That didn't stop me from getting her a nice little card for this commercial bonanza called Valentine's Day.

The front of the card had a cat or something similarly cute sitting a large armchair, and it said "of all the places I like being...", and then on the inside of the card, it said "...I like being in your arms the most". So fitting, and so true. Of course, underneath that, I added my own comment: "...if only. Remember me. Love, Matt"

this has been the best valentine's day ever. it started on wednesday, and went straight thru to friday, with a five hour nap in between for good measure.

Wednesday, 02.13.02
got up, went to class, went to werk, went to class, went to coffeehell. i'd lost my guitarist tuesday night, and so he was written out of Into the Heart of the Whole, and i had to replace him. so, i grabbed this adorable little illustrator i'd met a few weeks before, and turned him into a tiefling for the occasion. i read the chapter, preceded, ov course, by the list of people who stand out in my mind:

  • mitchell, for sticking by me after i hurled on his floor all those years ago
  • damien, for doing all those things i meant to do in highschool, and letting me live vicariously
  • princess, for knowing when to get me drunk
  • agate, for not leaving me alone when i'm moping
  • salem, for inciting me to riot
  • starrynight, for being the voice of sanity in my wilder moments
  • cap'n mollie, for sticking with me through some of the worst shit a person has ever endured
  • all of my brothers, for various things
  • mom, for not killing me
  • the coffee boys, for coffee, bagels, and wang jokes, and for putting up with me when i say things like "water me, coffeeboy!"
  • and mike, who owes me six bucks and has been a total dickhead for two days, i love you anyway, you little shit.
some guy had a seizure in the middle of salem's act. it was...entertaining. i wound up taking the illustrator home with me, and we drank ourselves silly, stayed up all night, and had a jolly good time.

Thursday, 02.14.02
made college casserole for breakfast, and the illustrator walked me to werk, where i drifted in and out of consciousness for four and a half hours. i tried to study for the test i had to take, but i passed out into my book, and was woken up by someone else in my class. i ran into the room, apologised for being late, and took the exam. i remember none of it. thankfully, my mom had picked up the sushi order, and clovis and agate brought sake...six of us sat around eating sushi and candy hearts and slowly getting pissassed. clovis and agate left first, leaving me alone with the assassin, the illustrator, and salem. i hadda sit about and look smug for a bit. we threw candy hearts, mercilessly cuddled my kitten, and listened to lush. it was too good. then the assassin took off; having to go to class inna morning is a bitch. salem eventually wound down some, after some silly photos and a good discussion of cartoons and comics, and he wandered off to occupy my bed for an hour before going to get his mom from werk and writing a paper. that left me and my illustrator. we killed off the sake, talked about sex and death, and drank some ginseng before finally deciding that we needed a nap. it was, hands down, the most refreshing nap yet this year.

Friday, 02.15.02
got up with this weird stabbing pain in my chest, and a handful of mosquito bites. the illustrator and i sat about and talked about strange and silly things, until i noticed that my arm itched...perhaps the mosquito lived on, and had continued to chew on me. no...wait, the itch was spreading up my hand, and my wrist had begun to swell. i was having a nasty allergic reaction to some totally unknown variable. i threw myself into the shower, furiously trying to wash off ... whatever it was; thankfully it worked. we managed a nice breakfast of poor man's mulligatawny, and he walked me to werk. in the lunacy surounding my random allergy, i had ditched my first class of the day. oh well. fuck 'em.

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