I buy into this whole writing-is-cathartic idea, and since everything that happened during my first semester of law school still feels like it happened to someone else while I watched, I think I need a little of that. Typing, blogging, putting out useless information has at least some element of this therapeutic nature for me, it seems. But I know that ultimately, writing a blog is about control — I can control what what anyone knows or sees by what I put out, so my world becomes limited and aligns to whatever whim I’m on that day. It’s also about getting attention. That’s really the one thing we all want in life, isn’t it? No? Okay fine, I’m still a child. On that same note, blogging (for me) is about giving the 3.5 friends/family members that read this what they expect from me, sort of to confirm their idea that my sad little existence is exactly what they think it is. I really don’t know what that’s about. There’s probably a lot of psychological problems lurking in that. Moving on.
So, for the purposes of self therapy, and keeping in mind these ideas of control, attention, and people-pleasing, I’m going to write about the holiday of love and romance. Healthy.
Mostly people either love or hate V-Day, and I don’t really like the pressure to join one of these two camps. Despite having a strong opinion about most things, I am completely apathetic about February 14. And I don’t mean apathetic as in I’m-gonna-be-so-cool-and-cold-and-uncaring (I obviously can’t pull that attitude off). I just can’t bring myself to expound energy either way. On one hand, it’s a holiday that’s all pink and flowers and frills, which is pretty much my decorating palette. Plus everyone just sits around eating chocolate and giving chocolate to each other. That’s my ideal everyday. But on the other hand, I recognize that the Valentine’s Day we see today is really just a ploy to sell greeting cards and candy hearts. And I don’t really like sappy stuff. So the entire foundation of the holiday generally makes me uncomfortable.
While people spend this time loving or hating whatever the day really is, I pretty much do what I do most days: reflect on my social experiences and how each of them have contributed to the impressively awkward person I am today.
When you’re a little kid, you just believe anything you’re told to believe by your parents and teachers. At least for me. Actually that wasn’t just my childhood. More weird psychological underpinnings. So I enjoyed my elementary school V-Days of giving little paper Valentines to all my classmates and reading all the candy hearts. Why were we so excited about what those little phrases were? Why did they ever have one that said, “fax me”? I thought this kind of Valentine’s Day would continue to be the norm, but then boys and girls started doing things with each other. I didn’t know what they were doing—I just knew that became the primary focus of teenagehood.
For a long time I tried to deny that we were all growing up and kept trying to give my friends Hello Kitty valentines every year. I don’t know which of my friends finally put a stop to that, but I know they were concerned that I would grow up to be what we now know as a Liz Lemon. Sorry guys, it happened anyway.
Since then, I’ve had six consecutive years of average-to-strange V-Day experiences in the sort-of-getting-to-adult-world. In high school we often had musical rehearsal or performances or something on Feb. 14th, so that made being around super-dramatic and hormonal theater boys and girls for hours EVEN MORE FUN. It also meant that my high school boyfriend and I had our first Valentine’s dinner in the car at Sonic, and I was wearing stage make up. I’ve also had two different experiences of guys making me cookies for a V-Day gift. Somewhere along the way these guys figured out that I like to eat. Accurate, but now I’m not sure how I should take it? Oh well. Give me all the bacon and chocolate you have. Besides these pretty average V-Days, once Feb. 14th rolled around just a couple weeks after I pretty much consented to dating someone that I wasn’t really planning on or interested in dating at that point in time (I believe my exact words in making it an actual relationship were “okay, fine.”). Cute, right? Anyway, feeling like I should make an effort after being kind of dismissive, I made dinner AND dessert (an extreme accomplishment!). But apparently that was TOO much effort, because no flowers or chocolate entered my apartment that night. It’s cool when people are chill! But, make sure I get the memo BEFORE I do all the things.
Point is, I don’t really know what the point is. Whether we make a big deal about it or a small deal about it, V-Day has just as much or as little impact on your relationships and personal well-being as every other day of the year. But it can be a great excuse to send your friends cheesy e-cards or make more and more batches of cookies for a special person in your life, if you’re into that kind of thing. And it’s the perfect day to wear all pink and NO ONE CAN SAY ANYTHING ABOUT IT. That’s actually not true, but I’m gonna go with it.