I’m really starting to dislike this month, not this instance of it in particular, but this month in general, as a month. It contains one of the more annoying days of the year, Valentine’s Day. Now, I dislike it anyway, the day, because basically it is just an attempt to get us to buy slips of ink covered cardboard, dead and soon to be rotting vegitation, and wax covered calories in boxes shaped like stretched labia… for someone whom we’re already presumed to have feelings for. A special day seems needless, and a moneygrab. Yes.

Except, the real irritation is that it’s a day where everyone is quite visibly in pairs, and nature abhors the single. And it provides a good benchmark, a stone in the road that one finds on each annual circle to remind themselves that nothing has changed, and, in this case, are now significantly worse.

Alas, I also find that if romantic disasters of any kind happen to me, they will happen in this month too, somewhere, as they have before, have now… and dare I stoop to beleive that they are likely to happen again in future. Basically, I’m going to say I don’t know. I put a lot of effort into convincing myself that nothing good will ever happen to me, based solely on the known nothingness I have come to experience… that used to be good enough for me. But I’ve also come to hope for things so extremely that I figure they must happen, cannot help but happen… to find that it happening was so far from what was likely or even physically possible that most would laugh at the prospect. So I can just as easily beleive in the inevitability of the good as well as the bad, and although I have experienced, I feel, a lot more of the bad than the good, I guess I might as well reduce myself down to what is actually knowable. Namely, nothing.

So I resolve my soul to free, through expecting and, through some extension, hoping for nothing, for hope drives expectation. I will endevour never to expect the good, or the bad, and live in a continuous series of moments, and whatever happens, happens, and no patterns exist.

I also have to remember that wise old saying, which I cannot remember entirely, but goes something like this: No matter how great you think someone is, someone somewhere is sick of their crap.