You're nobody till somebody loves you.

Happy V-Day, Bitches.

I find that this appears to be a day of extremes - either people go all out and enjoy the day with or without a partner, or they a) are in a relationship and call it a stupid money-making holiday created by Hallmark or b) are single and whine about how they have no one to spend it with.

I fall somewhere in between amusement/annoyance and just not really caring. Whether I'm with someone or not. I would like to say, however... CBC Radio 1? I'm disappointed in you. It has been nothing but vomitous cheesy love songs all day, and I don't care how much anyone can be in love - it's just waaaaay too much for a person to take. I have decided to celebrate V-Day by making a pot full of chili and then joyfully passing gas all evening (aimed directly at the dog, as penance for the many dog farts I endure on a daily basis).

I'm not particularly stoked about this week, and here's why.

Well, first of all, I had to pay my car insurance, but to make matters worse, as I was leaving the office the mid-thirties insurance agent (crinkled black shirt, Tazmanian Devil neck tie, male-pattern baldness, dandruff, sensible black Walmart sneakers) wished me a Happy Valentine's Day. I responded with, "Valentine's Day! Yes." He then said, "well, be sure to call someone special at least. Perhaps your mother?" If he wasn't already the saddest specimen, I would have taken sick pleasure in turning around and saying, "I'm sorry, due to the Alzheimers, she can't pick up the phone..."

I had a Doctor's appointment today, to renew my many prescriptions. After learning that I had quit my well-paying, adult, secure position (with benefits) my Doctor asked me, "so... do you know what you want to be when you grow up?" I replied, "No, but it looks as though I'll be working at the bar until I figure it out." He replies, "... as a dancer?"

As I was leaving the office, I ran into an ex-client, who assured me that he and his daughter are doing well, and that they actually prefer the counsellor who took over my work with them.

Tomorrow, I have been invited to go to my last workplace for a sort of goodbye party - cake, coffee, and apparently a gift. Needless to say, I'm looking forward to seeing my co-workers, because I genuinely miss them. A lot, actually. I'm NOT, however, looking forward to bursting into tears, which is completely inevitable. At the merest modicum of kindness, I turn into a premenopausal, hormonal teenage girl locked in her room and listening to Taylor Swift's "Back to December." It's going to be a messy reunion, peeps. Though, one that I think will be good for me - it's time to really move on.

Well, off to make some chili and ponder the implication of my wacky-ass dream last night. It involved Dr. Phil (morphed with one of my exes - covered in tattoos and rather handsome, actually!), lying naked in my bed, analyzing my relationship with my father. As he got up to leave, he collected his keys, wallet, cigarettes, lighter, and a potato, off the night stand.

I don't know why, but the potato really stuck with me.

xo-PS