I hate this day; I really, really do. I had to go to the grocery store last night and immediately upon walking in, was confronted with the wall of flowers and balloons and candy, and it was like a fist in the gut. But I got over it; helped Hannah pick out her present for a friend, then went home and had a normal evening, teased my 13 year old son about the elaborate preparations he was making to impress this girl HE likes, and went to bed thinking, ” I am a smart, strong woman, I don’t need a man in order to feel complete or happy, and this is all just a hype in order for people to make a lot of money. Really, I don’t see what the big deal is.“
But then I got to work and remembered; yeah, it is a big deal. One of the bosses got all of us a flower in a bud vase, which was lovely and thoughtful. At the same time they were being delivered, two of the women in the office had large, lovely arrangements delivered from their husbands. Still, not so bad-until one of the women brought over my measly little flower and and said, while holding her enormous vase, “Here, now you don’t have to feel so bad. Besides, I don’t know why it is such a big deal, it is really just another day.” And while she said that, she was petting her goddamn fucking roses like they were a mink coat. And that is when I realized that when it comes to crap like this, it matters not a whit that my rational mind knows that whether or not I have a partner, I am lovable. Instead, the emotional part of me, the human part of me, and okay, I will go ahead and say it, the female part of me cries out, “But what is wrong with ME?”
Tonight, while almost everyone I know will be either out celebrating or IN celebrating this day, I will be home making macaroni and cheese, monitering homework and baths, getting laundry going and getting everything ready for tomorrow morning for it to start all over again. The burden of single-parenthood is bad enough on a normal day, but on days like this it is all the heavier. After the kids are in bed, I think I will make a point of working on the packet of papers I got from my bankruptcy attorney-if nothing else, it should be a great reminder of why love is a dangerous choice to make, and to kill any last hopes I might harbor about somehow finding and keeping someone to love.