St. Valentine, I hate you. I loathe your wretched holiday. I dread the delivery of flowers throughout the day (last year I at least got a pity flower, this year - nothing), I despise the way it makes me feel utterly rejected and unworthy. Damn this holiday, with it's crass commercialism and forced sentimental value. I know it has no real meaning, but it still bothers me to no end. Gah. At least I get chocolate from my parents.

What makes the whole thing even worse is that I thought this year would be at least somewhat better. Apparently not. My boyfriend (the poor guy =\) has been ill for the past 3 days. So our tentative plans have probably completely fallen apart. Yay. You'd think I'd start to expect/prepare for this sort of thing. Note to self: Do not, under any circumstances, allow yourself to let hope's roots get too developed. Because something sucky will happen, the flower of hope will never bloom, and then you have to deal with the horrible heart-wrenching process of removing the complex root system from your heart. It never seems to be worth it... And yet I always think that somehow, this time will be different, better. *bangs head on desk* Stupid, stupid me.

Alright, now that I have filled everyone with warm fuzzy feelings of love and togetherness, I'm going to depart and make a noble attempt to salvage the remainder of this day. The fact that I am hopeful that I will succeed demonstrates just how little I take my own advice to heart.