07 II 2002 - 16:18 - verba9

Click here if you'd like to go straight to the Ampersand entry for February 2002: the subject is to be "Valentine's (this may be interpreted any way you like)." It's not a full entry by any means, but this is my first Ampersand entry in a long time, and I'm still getting warmed up, and I always hated the subject anyway. Surprise surprise, guess what I wrote about.

So I'm mildly amused, because there is a continuation of the whole story of my group's attempt to schedule a makeup rehearsal (makeup as in replacement for one we missed, not makeup as in Shiseido or Sephora). I called today after I got home from school (by the way, it's raining hard outside... just if you were interested) and told the violinist that I couldn't make that rehearsal. He asked me when I could make it, I said, "wait a sec and I'll call you back?" He said "sure." Then I suggested Saturday (9 II). He said, "I need to check that." What he didn't tell me is that he thought I meant Saturday (16 II). Oops. It ended out happily, though, because I talked to my mother and she blew up because, guess what, we're having a visitor from Las Vegas on the 9th! Back to the drawing board - I call him again, to find out that we were thinking about different Saturdays but it doesn't matter because I can't make either one. I'm leaving right after rehearsal on the 16th for Pittsburgh.

So we figure out that the middle of the week really doesn't work for either of us and he asks when I'm coming back, a question to which the reply is "Friday (22 II)." He says: "Oh, well, can you do a Friday night rehearsal, 7ish (15 II)?" JESUS GOD, man, I just called you to tell you that I couldn't because of my lesson and some traffic. Pay some attention! So I told him no, and he said he'd check his schedule and call me back later.

This is the day of rage; A. must really know that I hate his guts now. I feel sort of bad, because he's so clueless at times, but then I remember how much he drives me up the wall by refusing to listen to me except for when it pleases him to, and then I rest, satisfied. Even though I'm being vaguely hypocritical because I, too, can be quite willful at times. I'd love to claim the excuse "it's only human" but somehow that seems week, so I'll go ahead and admit that I have a hypocritical streak much more than a mile wide. Bigger than the Platte. (Ever heard that one? Inch deep and a mile wide? No? Guess you never had to do the history of the California Trail, then.)

While I'm here: I had some thoughts on the subject of Valentine's Day. Actually, I sort of had to; it's the Ampersand project for February. You've all lived, I'm sure, or at least heard, the rants against how Valentine's Day really doesn't make anyone happy - how easy it is to feel slighted, if you're with someone, and how insignificant you feel for not having anyone, if you're, well, not. Yeah. I was going to write mainly about that (quite frankly, I preferred the subject of "the borderlands," Joanne...), and then I realized that this is the easy way out for someone who always got the pity Valentines. (It was always quite obvious, too: when everyone else got 20 and you got 3 or 4...)

I mean, this bitterness is an old theme. Just look at the song Ophelia sings in Shakespeare's Hamlet:

Tomorrow is Saint Valentine's day,
All in the morning betime,
And I a maid at your window,
To be your Valentine.

Then up he rose and donn'd his clo'es,
And dupp'd the chamber-door,
Let in the maid, that out a maid
Never departed more.

By Gis, and by Saint Charity,
Alack, and fie for shame!
Young men will do't if they come to't,
By Cock, they are to blame.

Quoth she, 'Before you tumbled me,
You promis'd me to wed.'
'So would I 'a' done, by yonder sun,
An thou hadst not come to my bed.'"

Sorry, I know the formatting is messed up. Moving past that: I know that the bitterness stems from other sources, too, but I don't think there's any way she's thrilled with what she got for Valentine's day. (A corpse for a father and a madman for a lover? Why, you shouldn't have, it's simply too precious!)

And everybody is expected to be happy about this day? We're expected at my school to buy carnations for each other and send candy to each other? This is supposed to fulfill us somehow?

Oh, no. Christmas I can deal with, and Halloween, and those are well and good, but not a holiday that has a long history of making everyone it touches unhappy. (Just ask my friend and her friend, the boyfriendish young man. Sorry, Mechaieh...) I'm retreating into a cave on the night of the 13th and I'm not coming out until I know it's the 15th. There are only seven more days until it all happens...

(And as I say that I refuse to let this affect me, as I say I refuse to let this holiday make me feel bad... I know that I will see the red and white carnations flying in a week's time, and again feel insignificant and unworthy and all of those good things. This too shall pass... but oh, so angry, and so eager for this all to be over. Maybe this'll change when I grow older and become marketable. Or, you know, not.)