Feb 14: V-Day

A day that will live in infamy... Yes, I am mixing up my Pearl Harbor with my stormin' Normandy, but that aside, yes, today marks the second year since the end of my last official relationship. Two years of deliciously drippy cynicism, which reminds me of something I've often speculated on Valentine's Night: how many people across the world are, at this very moment, having sex? Additionally, how many people across the world are having sex simply because it is socially mandated that February 14th be a day of sex?

I mean, let's face it, Valentine's Day is specifically designed for men to disguise their carnal lustings, mask their pelvic thrustings, and put on a bit of a show for their significant others in the hope that such show will lead to aforementioned lustings and thrustings. Suddenly, those hearts and roses seem a little... icky, no?

Nonetheless, I have just returned from a lovely (non-sexual) evening in with myself. The show was extraordinary. I made a special dinner for myself, equipped with such exotic dainties as blueberry-coated goat cheese, slipped on my slippers and my chair-back massager, and tuned in to Pan's Labyrinth, which was, admittedly, still as sad and disturbing as when I last saw it four years ago. Nonetheless, as sad and pathetic as this scene may seem to the observer, it was actually surprisingly nice. I gave up my worries, my deadlines, and my stresses for a few hours to just enjoy being there. There was no one to impress, nor was there anyone to please. It was just pure relaxation and pure fantasy.

What's making it easier for me is that I've learned an important distinction. Valentine's Day used to be painful for me because I felt it reminded me of the lack of love in my life. What I've learned is that love is not lacking in my life; it's romance. There's a difference. Valentine's Day is the day of romance, the show, the penis masquerade, but it is not the day of love. I don't believe that, for anyone living a full life, there is a single "Day of Love," unless you want to count a wedding day, but that's a whole other post. Just listen to some Rent or Reg Presley, and you'll know what I'm talking about. Happy Valentine's Day, all.

Be Strong, My Heart

Be strong, my heart
In time of doubt,
And trust that you
Can do without.

The gold has cracked,
The lead revealed,
But have some faith
And so be healed.

Be strong my heart,
Through darkness, shine,
Though you're not his,
You're always mine.

See Saw

My cousin sent me a text message the other day, the first I'd really heard from her in nearly two years, and that includes the times we shared Christmas Eve dinner. Apparently, she just wanted to clarify that, no matter what our grandma may have told me, she wasn't really a bitch. Small talk progressed from there, though I was able to glean that the point of contention in the conversation was myself. My cousin had brought up her current problems, and our grandma had countered by saying that I had it worse.

I continue to be astounded by how opposite my life runs to the remainder of the world. When I'm at the bottom of the world and all is doom and melancholy, everyone is suddenly busy with their own affairs, yet when I'm on top of the world and all is sunshine and peaches, I become the talk of the pity papers. It makes no sense.

It may be dependent on who gets what side of me more. I noticed the other day, as my good friend asked me to write a letter of recommendation for his marriage visa, I realized that for the last four months, the only words I'd received about his fiancé were complaints, and consequently, I felt no inspiration to write such a letter, regardless of how much my friend proclaimed his love for this person. Having received only that side of his relationship, I could not see the positive in it. I think that may be the case with how my life comes across to others.

After many years of self-loathing and fishing for compliments in the pity pool, I've found that it is much easier to change one's own attitude toward oneself than others' attitudes toward oneself. One is with oneself for every mood swing and inflection, but it is not so with others. Thus, there is a delay, and all falls to confusion when, on a bright and cheery day, you are approached with condolences. Once things are sorted out, it's hard to be certain how you felt before the conversation took place, and by the time you've convinced the other person that you were in high spirits, their negativity may very well have reversed that, putting you in a foul mood while they saunter off under the impression that you're just dandy. It's a right mess, it is.

You own one too? Yes, but I loaned it to Sgt. Pepper.

I've hit a stumbling block on my path to a positive attitude, and it is the very nature by which I connect with people. I've never been able to grow close to a person through discussion of the weather or childhood frolics. No, the closest I can get to another person is through the broken heart.

Commiseration over past pain is the quickest way to intimacy, because it immediately places two people against an ominous foe: other people. They are then both on each other's side, fighting for and with each other, comrades in arms. This has long been the deciding factor in whether people become my friends or remain acquaintances. There must be a past history of pain, and in order to find the emotional intimacy I crave, I have to find it. The problem with this approach is that it invariably turns the conversation negative and frankly makes me come across as morbid. Maybe I am. Nonetheless, a story about past injury is the most revealing sort of story a person can tell, laying bare the vulnerable interior to scrutiny. Revealing it is a sure sign of trust and security in the other person. It is Connection.

So the problem being faced at this point is how to attain the same degree of intimacy, if possible, using a more positive approach, one that does not turn the conversation toward the side of gloom. Or if there is no alternative, then it becomes necessary to wait and see, to find a way to enter the subject and exit it, retaining the connection while shedding the gloom. Taking suggestions...

Jiz and Onions

It is absolutely amazing what the tedium of filing can do for one's sense of self awareness. When one's brainpower has been reduced to a trickle, it is somehow opened to the most unexpected revelations. Case in point: today, while sorting through three hundred employee applications from New York, I realized that my most intense moments of fear, self-loathing, and doubt occur when I am exhausted.

I shook my head to clear it, realizing that the night before, when I wasn't tired but got to bed late, I was quite happy. After waking up and missing my workout, slogging my way to work with bags under my eyes that could catch a piano (you know, like that one commercial...), I discovered that I was depressed. "How odd," I thought to myself, but as I looked back on the day, I hadn't been depressed when I was interacting with my coworkers. In fact, I had been quite merry, but after I had gone off by myself to file, losing that interaction, my face reverted to tired mode, and it all came back to me what my grandma said about smiling: Do it.

When I'm tired and alone, my face sags. Somehow, this continuous sagging translates in my brain to sadness, and when my brain senses sadness, it starts to produce more, spiraling out of control until what was once a "Good grief, I'm tired," becomes a "Ugh, my life sucks!"

To test this hypothesis, I thought back to the previous night, in which I laughed hysterically over a little video called "Jiz" {Warning: video contains potentially offensive language; I mean, just look at the title}. Anyway, I started cracking up, so hard, in fact, that some of my other coworkers had to come over and make sure I was all right. The miraculous thing about it is that after I had wiped away my giggletears, my entire outlook on life had reformed. I only vaguely thought about those other things that had been killing me moments before, and I was ready to get right back into... filing.

So, on an emotional level, this looks promising. If I can keep a series of thoughts or videos in my mind that will produce a smile, I just might have a cure for my bouts of depression. Or I could just get more sleep. Nah...