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Every year for as far back as I can remember, Valentine's day has always been a day of unfathomable and incomprehensible pain for me. For some reason, which I have really yet to rationalize, I have consistently looked upon the coming of February 14 with dread and no small amount of anxiety for it brought on the inevitable attack of the Valentine Malady, that mysterious disease which is also known for some as the Valentine Virus, the Valentine Affliction, the Aphrodite Anemia, and other inane pseudonyms which are brought about by the disease's symptoms, some less creative individuals probably consider it as a Heart Attack, in more ways then one. I find that it causes me to backpedal into an arrested state of immaturity which I normally manage to contain beneath a veneer of silence during the most difficult of ordinary days.
Admittedly, I have also been caught unprepared in recent years inspite of the inevitability of the Valentine Virus, because for the past two years or so, I thought the particular strain which would always manage to afflict me had become extinct, believing as I used to that the Valentine Virus was something caused directly by NOT having a Valentine, a situation I had remedied close to four years ago upon acquiring myself a husband. Attacks of the virus in recent years are starting to make me think that the Valentine Virus has nothing at all to do with loving and being loved, but has more to do with the position of the Earth in reference to the stars and to the moon during Valentine's day, as well as the turning of the tides, and is not in the least connected to whether you receive flowers or chocolates during Valentine's day. I'm starting to suspect that the mood which manages to assail me during every Valentine's day really has more to do with the astrophysical positioning of the earth every February 14. In fairness to Saint Valentine though, it sometimes comes upon me every holiday season as well, and sometimes even during my birthday.
Whatever the cause of this virus is, symptoms usually include grumpiness, a sudden attack of moroseness and sulking, depressive incidents which can turn even a relatively pleasant day, miserable (for no reason whatsoever), an uncharacteristic inability to show appreciation and affection even to those who are held most dear, in fact, tendencies of meaness and cruelty to the former, and a temporary talent for supressing guilt, at least until a new day dawns, and Valentine's day with all its caprices, surrealness, and commercialism, is safely over until the coming of the next year.
As well as finding it practically impossible to post anything in relation to Valentine's day on the day itself, at least until the next day arrives, and the claws and horns and fangs slowly retract, and you find yourself with an overwhelming desire, coupled with an unquenchable urge to tell the one who was hurt the most by the lash of your Valentine mania, how much you love him... even if it's hours too late, and even if you know that the gesture is hardly sufficient enough to make up for the horrible way you've behaved, as you yourself were very much aware that you were indeed being monstrous. And that you're sorry.
I love you so much Qs, and not even Google will find it possible, to find and define all the ways that I love you.
This space needs a line for now.