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It's 11:30 at night. I have school tomorrow, and karate right after. My muscles are burning from my karate session I just finished.

I should really be in bed. But sometimes you just need to talk.

It's been a while, hasn't it? Just what is it about the month of February that makes you want to procrastinate? The whole month of January never got its own post; I've even forgotten just what the hell happened in that lost month. It seems like after the excitement of New Year's blows over, after the holiday videos stop getting featured on YouTube, the rest of January is spent fretting about Valentine's Day. During that time, the populus divides itself into two main categories: those who adore Valentine's Day, and those who abhorr it. This was particularly evident at DGN; people either bedecked themselves in red, white, and pink, or cloaked themselves in black in a very emo fashion.

To be honest, I didn't realize it was Valentine's Day until I got to school. For an instant, I had a Kyou (from Fruits Basket) experience; Valentine's Day had crashed upon my head, and I had no idea what to do or how to prepare. Of course, I didn't have a crazed admirer hunting me down, but I fretted nonetheless. Who to buy chocolates for? Would anyone give me chocolate? What would I say if someone asked me why I was wearing orange of all colors? (Hey, it was still Spirit Week.)

Eventually I shrugged it off. Valentine's Day was really just another day to me. I would buy something for someone if I had the cash, the time, and the inclination. I seriously doubted that anyone would bother giving me a little gift--a doubt that soon turned around and smacked me in the face when my father handed me a red heart-shaped box. His girlfriend, Kathy, surprised me further when she gave me a modest white box with gold ribbon. Flustered, I thanked them both profusely, then remembered that my good friend Zack would be coming over with his promised Valentine's gift: a single rose and chocolates. It was nothing romantic, just something he did for all his female friends, but I wanted to give him something in return. I saved the white box and presented it to him when he arrived with his gifts.

He seemed just as surprised to get something as I was.

February pushed on, accompanied by the snow and freezing rain typical for the Midwest, but the Valentine's Day spirit lingered. I went to a karate tournament and bombed it miserably--eliminated in the first round, without having won the favor of a single judge. My 'berate yourself' mechanism kicked in and I slumped back home miserably, my thoughts sinking into a quagmire of low self-confidence.

But then I started thinking something else--how sick I was of beating myself up all the time. Valentine's Day was a time to show your love for others... but what about showing love for yourself? Was that such a crime when I spent most of my hours telling myself how lame I was? (Mind you, I'm not throwing a pity-party here. This was just my thought process.) So I made a resolution, right there on the highway--I was not lame, dammit, and I would never tear myself down so much again.

I've yet to see how this is going to work out long-term, but somehow I've got a good feeling about it.