And so it is Valentine’s Day yet again and like usual I’m single this year yet again. Can actually only remember one year when I was in a relationship on this dreaded day for all us singletons. That particular year (must have been the year I was turning 19) my boyfriend at the time couldn’t even be bothered to get me a card. But then again, I didn’t give him one either. Guess you could say our relationship was doomed from the start when, after just one month of going out, neither could be asked to even do this one small act. But that year was one of the few years that I didn’t actually receive anything. I have in the past been given roses, and last year a friend from home sent me a massive bouquet of flowers to my corridor. But no matter how sweet a gesture that was he should know by now that nothing will ever come out of it.
It seems as though it is a tradition now for Jen, my housemate, to give me whatever I get on Valentine’s Day. Last year she had to give me my flowers, because I had been out when they were delivered, and this year she gave me my card that came through the post this morning. As it was apparently sent by a secret admirer I will now eye everyone suspiciously, just to make sure that no one is trying to play a prank on me (what can I say, I’m just not that trusting), but either way it’s made my day and I’m certain to go to training smiling. Yet what gets to me is that obviously this person doesn’t know me well enough to be able to spell my name correctly (so I don’t really have to worry that this person is reading my blog :)), but have been able to find out my address, albeit not my post code.
So anyway, tonight my housemate Yantra and I are hitting Leam big time; me to commiserate the fact that I’m single yet again (celebrate, commiserate – any excuse to drink) and Yan because her boyfriend didn’t think it’d be wise for them to see each other and thus doesn’t seem to understand the importance of this day to her.
On a completely different note; Boz that highlighter still hasn’t properly come off. It no longer looks as though I have a relatively serious skin-condition, but I believe that if you look closely, you might still be able to make out the words ‘flatpack ikea girl’. By tonight I guarantee you though that no trace shall be left, even if it means scrubbing with turpentine.