The only fog in the Bay Area today is in my brain. I'm having a hard time getting my thoughts around much of anything and would like to spend the day in my bed reading a trashy novel.
I spent some time musing (that's a nice word for pity-party, isn't it?) about the upcoming consumer holiday, Valentine's Day. My rational brain knows that this is the coopting of a pagan holiday in its crassest form, but my romantic heart mourns not having a sweetie to bring me a flower and read silly poetry to me.
In an earlier posting, I talked about reclaiming days, and some people have tried to do this with Valentine's Day. Eve Ensler has V Day celebrations in which people recite her Vagina Monologues and donate to stop violence against women. Sasha Cagen has renamed the holiday International Quirkyalone Day. Quirkyalones all over the globe gather to be quirkyalone together.
In spite of these things, this talk about love, which seems to stretch longer and longer each year, digs into my spinster soul. Although I'm proud to be a spinster and of my ability to enjoy what I want to enjoy, even when I'm doing it alone, I would gladly cast off spinsterhood for a caring, healthy relationship. Valentine's Day becomes my nemesis each year. It bends me into believing that the whole world is coupled and that I am the lone spinster out there.
I wish there were a day that celebrated our love for ourselves...and, yeah, I know that I can reclaiming Valentine's Day for that, but I want a separate day, not a carve out from another holiday.
2 comments:
SW - i'm with you on this. it's exactly what i think a lot of women in their early-mid 30's are going thru...if we're alone, then, although we're happy being alone, we wonder if a good partner will ever come our way.
and if we're in a relationship -- we wonder if this is really all we're ever going to get...but is it worth it go back out on our own and maybe never meet someone good again?
i've loved my 30's up until now. why is this year so bizarre for so many of us?
I'm definitely getting the pre-35 blues. That's the number I'll see at the next birthday. I ain't a spring chicken anymore...
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