Meh.

The collision of Valentine’s Day with me monthly menses is a cruel, cruel motherfucking joke. Plus, it’s February where, traditionally, I spend all my time cursing winter, the world, loneliness, and wondering why it is that nobody will ever, ever love me, all while wearing my pajamas and hoping the entire world outside my door disappears.

I am crabby, busy, needy, whiny, horny, hungry, cry-y, angry, and sleepy (the sleep, it is ridiculous. Nobody needs as much sleep as I have been sleeping. I am a sleep hog). Two more than Snow White ever had. Who wouldn’t want to fucking hang out with me? I’m fun. Not that I want to hang out with anyone anyway because generally, at least for the past two days, I hate everybody. Well, except Charles. I almost forgot. I love Charles. And Ted Leo. Everyone else, I’m not such a big fan of. It might change tomorrow.

It should change tomorrow because of Valentine’s Day, my second favorite holiday of all time. Supergenius Day (June 6) is my favorite holiday of all time.

But this is the thing. The thing is I did nothing for Valentine’s Day this year and I feel wretched. I love to send Valentine’s, and this year I did not make the time. I’m awful. If, indeed, the love you take is equal to the love you make, then I get fucking nothing this year. Boo.

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