This Is For Lovers.

Ugh. So I've been trying desperately to post a blog here for several days, without success. So far I've amassed about a million "hearted" pictures on weheartit.com (mostly horribly vapid images of fashion models and Asian kitsch), approximately an equal number of cups of tea and coffee, several billion status updates on both Facebook AND twitter, and an even higher level of neuroticism and anxiety.
I keep starting to write things and then losing the energy halfway through attempting to make a witty pun about something and then end up bitterly cursing my computer screen late at night and scaring my pet dingo who is lying on my feet (this is possibly the only good thing about my dog - foot warming. Otherwise, she howls at five AM for food, runs full pelt through the windows in our house and eats my food without asking).
But anyway. So right now I would really like to be witty and merry and so on and so forth, but I am not. I am just stuck. (Incidentally, yes, I realise I am never witty/merry unless I am A) drunk or B) surrounded by bright pretty things)(Also, shut up).

The point is, I don't want to get all deep on you and stuff, but here is my beef with the world right now (and look just wait for it okay, this will go somewhere eventually):
I work as a receptionist sometimes, in a small counselling practise in my suburb (it is small like most everything else in my suburb is small. When they sell houses here they describe it as "leafy" and "only a thirty minute drive from the CBD!" They neglect to mention that twenty minutes of that is spent weaving through backstreets and various other suburbs until you ACTUALLY FIND THE SODDING FREEWAY). Anyway. What? Right, so I work as a receptionist, and we have this whole shelf of self-help books right across from the desk I sit at. Most of these are titled things like "The Power of Now!" and "Adolescence: A Parent's Guide To Teenagers" (the latter is actually a really good read, but not in the way, I am sure, it was intended. It does bring the lulz, though). But the one that REALLY makes me rage is called "Follow Your Heart" and has a picture of a Jolly Height-Challenged Skipping Man strolling merrily down the Road to Success.
I hate Jolly Height-Challenged Skipping Man with the fire of a thousand suns. He makes me want to stick a writing implement in my temple.
And I think the reason is this: This Sunday it will be my first Valentine's Day in three years that I am without a Valentine.
OKAY I KNOW I KNOW OKAY I KNOW. It's lame. It's stupid. I am fully aware that it is a Hallmark holiday full of consumerist crap designed for tween girls to send love notes to boys that are shorter than them because of the horrible, horrible mechanics of puberty (and I like to think that Mother Nature is having a good laugh about her work). But you know what? I DON'T CARE. IT MAKES ME MORE BITTER THAN BEFORE.
I want to kick a wall. And to be fair, I have had a really, really good past year. But it has also been a really messy last year and so many things have changed that I kind of feel a little like I've been on one of those vomit-inducing, breakdance mimicking rides at some sort of cliched carnival for several weeks.
Needless to say I have mixed feelings of dizziness, confusion, euphoria, rage and a nasty queasy feeling in my stomach that fails to go away.
So this Valentine's Day, I am going to go to a park, with a bunch of my friends, who are just as bitter and jilted as me, and I am probably going to drink too much red wine and eat too much cheese, and chocolate, and potentially other foodstuffs starting with a "ch" sound. And I am going to wallow in self pity and bitterness and disappointment.

And then I am going to get over it, and realise I am sitting in a really nice park, with a bunch of really great friends, getting drunk in the sun and laughing.

Well... I might kick a few couples in the shins. Just to make me feel better. You know.

Soppy love hearts and disgusting public displays of affection,
Anna. xx