Right now I feel like I’ve already lived a full day and I’m ready to go back to bed. However I love Valentine’s Day with an unreasonable, ungodly passion. First of all I adore bad crafting materials. Glitter. Hearts. Patterned paper. Be still my beating heart! I get an a logical amount of pleasure from absolutely mediocre crafts.
Also... love. Pile it on. I can just never get enough! Give me some more. Like food, like drugs, like cheap wine, I want to gorge on the pink sticky sweet stuff. I do not have a realistic, balanced, health,y non-materialistic view of this holiday-- or any other. I want it all. Everything, and then some.
This morning Stan came home with not only a stuffed pink unicorn bigger than me but also a stuffed green frog bigger than him. When he walked through the door it look like he was carrying a dead body under each arm. I was so happy I actually fell to the floor. I rolled around on top of the stuffed animals like a dog in heat. I wrapped them around my body like fur coats. He gave me what I wanted, and then. But was it enough? Will I want a unicorn the size of the Empire State next? Yes, I probably will.
I want to be one of those people who doesn’t buy into the commercialism of manufactured Hallmark holidays. Who always knows I am loved and perfect and whole just the way I am. Who can feel content and peaceful with a meaningful hug, a shared smile. But I’m not one of those people. Not yet. And until I am, bring it on. Fill me up until I burst, until it’s almost like I’ve had enough.