valentine was a dick

are there things you think of, things you've done, that make you want to not live anymore?

i don't mean that you would kill yourself. but in the moment that you think about those things maybe you just wish that you could disappear from the earth, at least for a week or two.

everybody has those things. but i have an obsessive personality when it comes to personal mistakes: i flog myself for things i have done & said, things no one else even cares about anymore, if ever.

like telling robert tebbenkamp he needed to give his heart to jesus.

having my pants down when craig came back inside with the mail.

walking in on jean-jean's elderly mother when she was stepping out of the shower.

telling one friend another friend said he hated him, in front of all the friends concerned.

cramming a cream pie into shad willingham's face and nostrils.

hiding under the table while gannie searched for me frantically around her house.

just a two-week disappearance period. to clean the karma slate, penance, thoughtful reflection, time out, time alone.

thank god, and thank you charles darwin, whose 200th birthday (along with lincoln's, and wasn't obama's speech fantastic?) was this week, for evolution. thank god, the evolving god within the evolving me, for evolution. even though i have many of the same problems, issues and hang-ups i had 20 years ago, the last twenty years, this half-life, have brought me steps closer to enlightenment. 

my boyfriend is valentining it up. yesterday he made these sumptuous liquor-infused dark chocolate truffles, rolled in cocoa powder, with strawberry sauce. now he's in the kitchen fixing dinner. all i know is that salmon (one of my favorite things to eat) is involved. it is very exciting indeed.

though i appreciate the fact that this year i have an actual boyfriend on valentine's day (i don't remember the last time this happened), i send out my love today to those who don't have partners. i send out a wish that they will evolve one step toward understanding that they, themselves, without accompaniment, are damn good company.

screw st. valentine.