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from Clipart Today

Yikes!

Is it bad that I’m relieved I have a perfectly good excuse for avoiding Valentines Day for the second year in a row that I’m single?

I hate Valentines Day. Okay, fine…scratch that…besides these last two years, I’ve had one Valentines Day when I wasn’t in a relationship and even then, I went on a socially-pressured date. And the result of that was a friendship ruined because I couldn’t figure my own head out and do the right thing by going stag on Valentines Day.

Because a girl has to have a date for Valentines, right?

I mean, last year, I had two dates lined up and both of them purposely not on the actual day, but really, we all know it was to “celebrate” the day. I had sort of dreaded those dates coming up. Not that the guys weren’t perfectly awesome, because they were. If I had been in a better emotional place, I know one of them would have been Mr. Perfect for sure–the kind of guy you run to tell your mom about. The other guy was the kind of guy you showed off to your girl friends: Mr. Tall Dark and Foreign.

And around this time last year, I was trying so hard to fall in love again. But I just couldn’t, and I was too terrified of the prospect of another post-Valentines-Day-I’m-really-not-that-into-you fall out.

Then my grandmother passed away and I had to pack my bags and fly to the Philippines. I had to cancel Valentines Day. And I did not mind at all. In fact, it was the catalyst for my “Time Out” from dating until June.

This year, I’m almost glad I have the shelter of “studying for the Bar” to protect me from the social pressure of going out with someone on Valentines Day. It’s just that…Valentines is such a statement in this society that it’s kind of terrifying. What does it mean when I say yes to a Valentines Day date? What do I have to be next?

I don’t want to lead people on. Not especially when they’re friends and I hate stepping over and blurring the lines. It gets too complicated and the worst part is, I always come out of it one friend short.

I don’t know…I’m confused. I suppose there is one (or two) guys I would hope to go on a V-day date with. But this excuse also gives me a reason not to hope that he’d (they’d) bother to make plans. He (they) know that I’m in the midst of Bar-frenzy and cannot be disturbed. I’ll just pretend that that’s the reason why he (they) wouldn’t ask me out.

Maybe I’m just a coward?

Maybe I’m just not ready?

Someday, I’m going to have to figure it out. Because I can’t be possibly be (UN)lucky enough to have another catastrophic reason to miss Valentines Day for the third year in a row, right?

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I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

– T.S. Eliot
These lines of T.S. Eliot’s poem always reminds me what my (and I think a lot of people’s) greatest fear in life is: it’s that silent fear to be forgotten when I’m gone.

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Trouble is…

If I’m not doing it, how can I expect you to do the same?

I could hope.

But then again, you could be hoping and I’m here knowing that it’s in vain.

I could be a fool.

But I don’t think I’m strong enough to be foolish.

I smell trouble. Worse, it’s a double standard on my part.

Evirrrr.

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I’m blissfully happy.

I grind my teeth.

I smile all day and laugh everywhere I go.

I have nightmares.

I play boardgames, go rock climbing, talk to friends.

My stomach churns.

I go out on dates.

I’ve got my eye on the calendar…

Not only that, but so many other things have happened (uh, lost camera, lost debit card, law school loans coming out of the grace period) that should make me pouty or sad or at least dampen my bliss. Maybe the Neuro Bliss that I drank last Monday is still hanging around in my system.

Who knows?

But I’m still happy. And I wish I could bottle this feeling up because I might really need it tomorrow. Maybe this is me just making myself as happy as possible to guard against the misery that I might feel tomorrow? Is this denial? It must be. Blissful is ignorance indeed.

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Okay, okay…maybe not. I mean, I’m not a lawyer…yet.

But at least I’m making money again. And I’m busy again. And I’m feeling productive again.

There’s waitressing (yeah, don’t judge, you know it’s a noble profession *coughs*), tutoring (it’s rewarding, okay…), document reviewing, and researching/writing. So what if I have four bosses and I’m scheduled back-to-back-to-back?

I’m totally lovin’ it.

Like I told PMaster, I feel like my life has purpose again.

I love waking up in the morning feeling like I immediately have to get out of bed and work. I love that sense of direction and knowing what to do next. Yes, I’m going to miss waking up at 9 or 10, and even 11 on a few days, but nothing beats waking up and knowing that you’re getting something done today.

Love it.

Plus, I get free food from one job, interaction with kids at another, legal networking at another, and legal research at the other. Heck, I even get to wear a tie (and an apron). Once my schedule becomes much more settled and clearer, I’m also jonesing to start doing volunteer legal work at the SFBar Association. More networking, more of my foot (and hopefully a leg and an arm) in the door, and hopefully a job when (yes, when–i’m being optimistic here) I pass the bar.

Handsome H says he admires my moxie.

In reality, it was more of a near-fatal combination of boredom and the desperate need to do something more than stay at home all day.

Either way, I’m baaack in bidniz. Sort of.

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I’ve been trying to figure out this strange restlessness in me, wondering when I’m going to “get there.” This blog entry pretty much nailed it. All the short-term pleasures are exactly that: short-term. I find myself wallowing in the troughs between the peaks of indulgence and wondering why I’m not “happy” at those times.

He calls it self-actualization–and I’ve been calling it my search for a “deeper meaning.”

I don’t know what to do yet. I am certainly still playing the “waiting game” of “when I get that job” then I can start figuring out the rest of my life.

But at least I know I’m not the only one trying to define happiness that lasts.

What is happiness anyway? It hit me across the back of the head like an angry parent. There I was, minding my own business, wallowing about in a mopey state of woe at my dissatisfaction with my own life, when reality bit me fair on the butt. Hard. I regularly bang on (and on, and on) about the importance of independence, that is, not seeking a partner to complete ones-self, but rather, ones who complements us. I rant on about the importance of goals, incremental personal … Read More

via View from Wit's End

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