Squishing About in My Brain

Posts Tagged ‘romantic history

HAPPY TUESDAY!

I know what you all expect of me. You expect to show up here and be delighted and somewhat disquieted by my rant against Valentine’s Day, especially if you know anything about my “romantic” history, and expect to leave murmuring (after you are done giggling, and being impressed by my vocabulary), “Oh, poor dear, not only is she a tad crazy, but she is so, SO bitter inside. It’s such a shame…”

I love you, my people. I appreciate your loyalty, your support, those endearing qualities called “they keep coming back to read more” and “sometimes they even comment”…

And I have PLENTY to say about the inherent cruelty of this holiday, most of which is probably pretty obvious, and  mostly shared by all the single ladies (all the single ladies!…sing it, Beyonce!) I know.

But y’know what?

I’m not going to do it.

Nope. Not gonna.

You heard me correctly. Stop shaking your head and checking your ears. It isn’t your ears, or a sudden-onset neurological problem. I said it.

I AM NOT GOING TO DO IT.

I know. I shock myself as well, believe me.

Instead, I am going to stay with the holiday color scheme and talk about…menstrual cycles.

Yes, I said it. It’s time to talk periods.

Get back here; you KNOW I can make period woes funny. Probably.

Come back here, boys…I promise it won’t be a graphic representation.

Since my period chose to flow forth this morning in some evil accordance with the “Even if you could be gettin’ some, you ain’t gettin’ some!” aspect of the holiday, it’s been on my mind. (This also explains why I detested everyone who came near me yesterday, regardless of blood ties or generally genial standing in my life normally. But you didn’t know I hated your guts, so…bygones, I say.)

I’m aging. I am not yet getting wrinkly, but I am aging. My joints are like rabid snarling beasts, especially during the winter.

And, like all women through the ages, I am finding my cycle is…changing.

It’s less (pro), it’s shorter (pro), the cramps come harder (con) and go quicker (pro)…OH MY GOD I AM GOING TO BE INFERTILE AND I ONLY HAD ONE BABY AND I WANTED THREE AND I’VE NEVER EVEN BEEN CLOSE TO HAVING A RELATIONSHIP THAT COULD WEATHER A YEAR, LET ALONE A MARRIAGE OR A PREGNANCY AND EVERYONE WHO HAS SOMEONE IS GETTING PRESENTS AND LOVE AND MAYBE HAVING SEX AND I DON’T EVEN HAVE SOMEONE FOR THAT, EVEN FOR ONE DAY…! (con).

It isn’t just that stupid Cupid who makes me connect these thoughts to Valentine’s Day. And it isn’t just my period. There is SO much about both the holiday AND bodily functions that contribute.

We’re just SURROUNDED. INNUNDATED. I almost broke down in the V-Day aisles at Walmart, I shit you not. I weathered it to get the Kid a gift and the parents a card, but damn, was it difficult not to bawl. And I had to buy myself candy to give myself will to make it through. (Coupled with ibuprofen, it’s a lifesaving miracle drug cocktail, I tell ya.)

Actually, it’s all in a great big, loud, messy mosh pit in my mind:

{V-Day, so much fucking “oops, gotta make up for being a douche all year” shopping frenzy; so much fucking red and all these damn hearts—hearts don’t look anything like this shit, anyway, they’re all mushy and bloody and covered in yellow fat and blue veins and shit, what’s so fucking romantic THERE?!—

 and fucking flying fat smiley BABIES!; suck ups in relationships; some of them will actually get laid (but not you, Dad, sorry); I never get laid, and now it’s almost too late to get laid and have babies cuz my ovaries are getting ready to punch their final damn time clock and retire; stupid holiday just reminds me that other people get some and get babies and families and don’t go without sex for years at a time unless they aren’t ballsy enough to fricking ask their spouses/lovers/girl or boyfriends/others for some and make an effort to please someone besides themselves; I’m a good lover, I might even rate great once I got the hang of it again, I deserve some lovin’, I’m excellent with skin and I love it so; I deserved a loving spousal unit and more babies; now I can’t even get laid, let alone have what all these complainy people have while they spend too much money on one day for no reason…}

And round and round we go, where we’ll land, nobody knows…

Actually, it always lands in the same place, thudding down with my esteem and mood, landing like the damn house in the Wizard of Oz, with me underneath.

And although I may cop to being a witch, I don’t have pretty enough shoes for this particular scene!

Please note: I am not talking out my ass in the following discussion. I have had relationships. I was engaged twice. I was also dumped on Valentine’s Day in college, scarring me for life, even though the man that did it ended up being the one I almost married. The last serious relationship I had was with a man who showed up on Valentine’s Day for a movie, with no thought of it being special; I had made a card and gotten him a gift. All in all, that was okay, as his divorce just never QUITE became final, and I had to end it after a year+. God, I loved him. That also made me hate the holiday. And I had relationships that were angry and bitter and emotionally abusive all the time, barring February 14th itself. That was a nasty lesson. Each time. And the last one? Well…he liked me, but I just didn’t matter THAT much. *shrug*

So, I am not some cloistered, born-again virgin who longs for the fairy tale she just KNOWS can be. That ain’t me at all. I am remarkably practical in this arena, through personal experience.  Really, you would not believe the shit I’ve lived through; not braggin’, just sayin’.

A relationship: You work it, or it works you over.

So, on we go.

I have personal knowledge of, i.e. am in personal relationships/contact with, about…five happily married, well-matched couples.

I know a lot of people, people. But, off hand, I can name FIVE. That’s ONE hand, folks.

That’s sad.

I find it even sadder that on this holiday, THIS ONE FUCKING DAY, all the OTHER couples are spending their time getting sucked into the maelstrom of this marketing-motivated holiday, in hopes that for one day, their significant others will produce self-generated amnesia, and forget how much they fight or ignore each other or disrespect each other or abuse or use each other every other damn day of the year, mostly in the hopes that at least TONIGHT they can get some nookie, or maybe even just a peaceful evening with no bickering.

And it makes me sad that all the single people are led to believe that there is something wrong with them (us!) because they are not doing exactly this. And we are believing it, on some level.

There is no maybe about it; this holiday markets to everyone’s insecurities and makes single people think they suck in some way because they don’t have someone to whom they need to suck up once a year.

And it hurts the couples, because all of a sudden, their lives with another person are being judged and possibly found wanting, all because of one lousy day in one cold month of an entire year they are together.

This makes me sad. Not only for myself (I am not in pity mode this year, actually. Not today anyway…not yet), but for everyone who is busting their asses to try to make this holiday like a perfect, softly-lit scene from some fricking romance novel (and do not get me started on the impossibile standards set by this particular genre of book, either!), or some heard-third-person tale or trillionth-heard fable of someone else’s pukingly perfect Valentine’s Day experience!

THEY DO NOT EXIST. YOU ARE CHASING A UNICORN.  And like unicorns (unless someone can prove otherwise; I’ll gladly accept proof), you believe because you want to, and your belief strengthens the impossible story and gives it life and credibility it never had on its own.

So…married people.

I watch them.

Yep. I note their moves; their conversations; how they speak to each other about every single thing, large or small; the way they talk about each other when the other is not around; how they react when they are unhappy with the other, privately or publicly; I watch how they interact in both large and small moments. I listen carefully and watch it all closely. I read their faces; I am good at that.

Yes, my married friends. I stalk your asses for grist for my mind-mill, churning out its relationship do-n-don’ts. 

You, too, strangers. I watch your asses. I listen. Sometimes I judge you. I cannot tell you how many times I hear one of the voices in my head (heh heh) saying, “Oh hayl no. If I was him/her, no fucking way would I be putting up with THAT shit. UH UH.”

You would think it would make me feel better about being single. But it doesn’t, because I’ve been indoctrinated with this holiday my whole life, too. What it does is make me sad that two people who are obviously unhappy have each other, when I, who know I am a loving, giving, and generally compassionate significant other, have no one with whom to share the insanity of the day.

So, back to those five couples.

Here’s what I see in them, in a general lump:

Respect for each other and themselves. Happiness in being together; they want to be there, with each other. Supportive language, not snippy or demeaning comments. A sense of humor. Letting a little irritation be little, and leaving it once they admit to be irritated. Security, knowing that their other is there, period; there will be no threats of abandonment; COUPLED.

And y’know what? Everyday is Valentine’s Day for these people, generally speaking. Not Buy-Lots-of-Trite-Shit Day—they have I-Love-You-Every-Day Day.

Because even when they are pissed off at each other, they still LOVE each other and behave accordingly; they both know they aren’t going anywhere, and no one is thinking of betrayal because they are angry, and no one says something they absolutely cannot take back, nothing scarring to the psyche. They treat each other like best friends, and they try to do and say what a best friend would.

I see way too many people in the world who are living in their own relationship Hells every goddamn day, year in and year out.

Maybe that is why the color of the day is in-your-face red. Maybe today is actually to remind people that they have created this standard of daily living that requires a red letter, national holiday to make them realize how hurtful and petty and in Hell they are all the time, and how it is of their own making. Maybe today has to be a bold-colored, over the top festival of angst, just to remind us all to simply have a heart in our dealings with each other. In a relationship or not. One nation or not.

Maybe that is what all this Valentine’s Day bullshit is really about, underneath. Maybe we need to finally change our behavior and change our lives and change our off-kilter, fucked-up world.  Change is slow, and so is self-awareness, so perhaps it just takes a lot of red and pink and fat damned winged babies and chocolate and sadness and bother to inch us forward into understanding. And once a year, we get reminded to MAKE A FUCKING EFFORT in this life.

From the bottom of my heart—and all the ventricles and fat deposits and valves—Happy Valentine’s Day. To us all.

(admit it…that is not what you thought was going to come out of my mouth)

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