Valentine's Day

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I don't know why Valentine's Day bothers me the way it does.  It shouldn't.  For the most part, I'm used to the "Charlie Brown moments."  Those moments when I go to the mailbox on Valentine's Day and realize that once again, there's no Valentine's Day greeting card for me.  I actually get excited when I get a bill in the mail.  That means somebody needs me.  Well, my money.  It even tickles me to get mail addressed to "Occupant," "Resident," or "Current Resident."  But I still hope the impossible happens, I guess.  Already Y&R had their Valentine's Day episode and it was Thanksgiving and Christmas rolled into one.  Gee, thanks for reminding me that I'm alone.  Don't get me wrong.  Being alone has it's qualities, and for the most part, I'd like to believe I handle it pretty well.  But I'm also human, and being alone is not what I pictured at this point in my life.  I'm divorced, damn it, not dead.  I want a date.  A d-a-t-e.  I want dinner out with a member of the opposite sex.  Let me qualify that.  Not a member of the family.  A date.  Someone who makes me laugh.  Someone I hope likes my sense of humor.  Someone who's smart, but not condescending.  Someone who sees me as somewhat intelligent.  Someone I can shoot the shit with.  Someone who might find me reasonably attractive and someone I might find reasonably attractive.  And, gee, someone I'm comfortable with and who's comfortable with me.  Is that asking too much?  The solitary life is not all it's cracked up to be.


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