My Valentine.

My Valentine's Day began with a bath. After soaking in luxurious bubbles amidst a candle lit setting, I then slipped into my finest vintage pink ensembles, in celebration of this lovely day.

As I went into town and picked up my traditional apple fritter and accompanying cup of coffee, one of the baristas at 602 jokingly asked how I would be spending my day.  

 “You going to spend it with your cat?”  

 Boy she had no idea how correct she was.

See, I haven't had the best history with Valentine’s Day. Since the early years of my childhood, I’ve always felt left out.  

Every year, I would hope that on this day, my crush would magically put a Valentine in my locker, and every year, I was sorely disappointed.  

As my school years transitioned into adulthood, I continued to be let down by the lack of attention I wished out of the universe.

To this day, I continue to hope that one of my crushes will satiate my desire and wish me a Happy Valentine's Day. I wait in line at the grocery store and look longingly at the bouquets of flowers purchased for someone special, imagining myself on the other end, flowers purchased for me by someone special. 

Alas, my crushes are nearly all married (or engaged, or about to have a baby, or in some form of serious relationship that is not with me), and of those who are not in the above? Well, they’re simply not thinking about me.  

But do you know who is thinking about me?  

Me.  

Valentine’s to me, is a celebration of love. And a celebration of love does not have to be about having a romantic partner, or a significant other. If I’ve learned anything about my continued disappointments year after year, it’s that love doesn’t just come from having a special someone. Love is all around. Love comes from family, friends, my cat (especially my cat), and most importantly: from me.  

Society has taken romantic relationships and twisted it from a good thing into the ultimate thing, something to aspire towards. It's marketed in such a way that if you're single, you're not able to experience the flowers, and the chocolate, and the gifts, and the smothering of I love yous and kisses. It plays on your insecurities, makes you feel like you're missing out.

But my life is complete right now, with or without a boyfriend, and in celebration of that, I’m going to give myself all the love I have because I can, and it’s good for me.

The love I feel right now for myself, my life, and for those special someones around me (which aren’t romantic partners), has far more of an impact on my happiness than the idea of someone buying me flowers or wishing me a Happy Valentine. That’s validation from an outside source and why long for something I “don’t have” when I do have all this love surrounding me, from family, friends, and me?  It's in a different form, but it's love, nonetheless.

I was my own Valentine today, treating myself to sweets, and a latte cups of joe. I treated myself to lunch, partook in my most desired Veuve Clicquot champagne, wished myself a Happy Valentine’s Day, and I chose to celebrate the spirit of love as it is, and not how it’s marketed to be.

 

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Get 'Er Done.

February did not start off on the right foot. In fact, it felt like it started off on two left feet.

With my imminent move approaching (quicker than I can keep up with), I not only have to worry about packing up my whole life and heading southward, but I have a pre-move trip to plan. And it has been absolutely and unnecessarily exhausting.

To the point that I can't sleep at night. Mix that in with the fact that I open most mornings at the coffee shop and have to be there at 6:30am, my poor eyes have developed a permanent redness and my body moves along at an especially sluggish pace.

I'm also having the worst time communicating. Asking for help, reaching out to those I know can answer a few questions for me, or simply standing up and saying I need a break from the madness.

The worst part of it all is that most of it is in my head. I'm perpetually finding myself taking a task I need to complete, obsessing over it, then rolling with said task down a mountain at top speed. So my seedling of a task has snowballed into a problem I eventually give up on.

It's far too exhausting and I have reached the point where enough is enough.

So on my one day off this week, after a night spent crying myself to sleep over-thinking all the things I need to do and all the money I have to spend, I woke up and told myself:

Just get 'er done.

Enough of the excuses, enough of the (many) pity parties, let's woman up and get some of those things checked off. It is unnecessary to let simple tasks consume me, especially when there are people out there just a phone call away and willing to help. 

With that being said, I do what I always do in times when I need cheering up: I had a date with my closet. On came my "sass" playlist (lots of Kelly Clarkson, Beyoncé, Pussycat Dolls, and even the Cheetah Girls), off came my robe, and within fifteen minutes, I had a solid outfit and a fierce lip that boosted my energy and inspired me to be productive.

As a woman who now looks ready to get 'er done, I got 'er done. 

What's even better was that after weeks of cold and droopy weather, we were blessed with a fresh snowfall. 

This new change of scenery was a welcome accompaniment to my new attitude. And the getting done got done.

 

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