Last year I wrote Valentine’s Day Sucks. I stated my case about why it sucks. This year I’m following it up with a sequel. A more introspective look into myself and to why I personally think it sucks. I had a year to do this research. The result is this. I’ve come to the conclusion that maybe I’m not capable of love. I mean I love myself. A lot. Shit I’m awesome! I love my family. I love my friends. I love Boston. I love money. I love writing. I love sex. I love my work. I love all that stuff a lot. But I just can’t find it with a woman. Maybe it’ll never happen. Maybe I don’t care. Maybe I do. Maybe I’ll live in shame. In sin. In lust. For the rest of my life. Maybe I’ll just come and go as I please. Pun intended. Maybe I’ll just rock some chicks’ lives and leave them happy. Or miserable. I mean that’s what I’ve been doing. For a while now. Maybe it’s because I refuse to “bite the bullet” like so many of my boys have done. “Time for me to settle, T.” They say. “I want to have kids. She’ll make a good mom.” They trick themselves into believing. “I’m getting up there. Sick of going out.” They say as if they are defeated. And you know what t-blawgians? Not one of them. Not one single one of my seriously committed or married buddies have ever said to me, “I love her more than I love myself. More than anyone or anything else I know.” Not one. That’s what I would want. If it ever happened.
I’m not heartless. I’m just me. I’ve been in love. I’ve been loved. And it ended. It came and went. That’s what she said. So until I can say what none of my buddies are capable of saying, I say this, fuck love. Fuck the chirping birds. Fuck the butterflies. Fuck the candy. Fuck the dopey in love smiles. Fuck the elderly couple holding hands. Fuck the weddings. Fuck the living happily ever afters. Fuck love. Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it! All you whack ass “in love” people can go out on Valentine’s Day to that “special restaurant”. Order that “bottle of champagne”. Spend the night “in Boston”. Away from the kids. Away from your mundane “settled” lives. Because you know what? All that special shit I just mentioned? I DO THAT EVERY SINGLE FUCKING DAY. I’m already in Boston. I’ve already been to that restaurant and told you about it. I already drank that champagne and pissed it out. Twice. I don’t have kids that I need to hide from for the night. This is your Valentine’s Day??? REALLY?! That’s special? That’s love?! Fuck that. Fuck love.
All you couples “in love” judge me and all those other people who haven’t found “love” yet just a little bit more around Valentine’s Day. Don’t lie. You stare. You point. You gossip. You think and say something is wrong with us. You cast your fucking Valentine’s Day stones. Well this year I’m throwing them back. Right at your stupid fucking heads. I’m throwing them back for people who aren’t like you. I’m not like you. I’m not saying you’re bad. I’m just saying I’m not you. And I’m also saying…fuck love. Fuck your version of it anyways. I may not be capable of your version of love. Or the “textbook” version of it. But maybe someday I’ll say out loud to whoever will listen, with a big dopey fucking smile on my face “I love her more than I love myself. More than anyone or anything else I know.” But until that day. Fuck love. Fuck Valentine’s Day. At least until that day.
Until next time. Always take it there.