Note: In the commentary for my Redneck Valentines post, “someone” asked about cards and stories for folks who are NOT in a relationship on Valentine’s Day. Well, I just so happened to have this in the archives…
Jeanne: “Hello, Tree. I’m here once again, sharing my thoughts, feeling a little blue because it’s Valentine’s Day and I don’t have anyone special in my life right now. I won’t be getting any flowers or candy, even though all the other gals in the office will be getting things, with each of them squealing like a stuck pig when something gets plunked on their desk.”
Tree: “Now, Jeanne, we’ve talked about this before. There is no reason for you to be all bereft just because you don’t currently have a man or a woman walking around with your fingerprints on them. Valentine’s Day is a purely commercial enterprise designed to make money. It has nothing to do with real relationships.”
Jeanne: “But the girls in the office… they seem so excited when they get something. Granted, the squealing does get on your nerves after a while, and I often have unclean thoughts about wanting to slap them and hurl their wretched flowers out the window, but still, it would be nice if I could do the squealing one day.”
Tree: “Did it ever cross your mind that the validation your gal pals get from getting something one day a year is a little bit sad?”
Jeanne: “I’m not sure what you’re saying. But this might have something to do with my over-stylized coiffure, coated as it is with severe grooming products that tend to reflect soundwaves. I’m never any good at Bingo, because I can’t hear the numbers they are calling out.”
Tree: “I’m going to skip over that part, because it’s a little insipid and it feels like the writer of this post is experimenting with a humor angle that hit the fail blog. But what I am saying is that love isn’t based on a calendar. Love isn’t a thing that can be defined by buying chocolates on a certain day just because somebody else thinks that you should do so. Love is personal, individual, and there are no rules. Love arrives and thrives and survives because thousands of tiny things come together in just the right way for two people, not by following a recipe or a formula or using your credit card.”
Jeanne: “But what if my thousand tiny things never mesh with anyone?”
Tree: “Well, that’s a good question. And the answer depends on what is right for you, even if you don’t know what that is yet. Some people have many loves. Some people have one love that never ends. Some people have loved with intensity, burning brightly, and then happenstance deals a blow that leaves them alone, and they never want to try again because what they had can never be topped. Some people are quite content with being alone, some of us have natures like that, and there’s nothing wrong with that acceptance. And some people, dear friend, will never find that perfect one.”
Jeanne: “That sounds so depressing.”
Tree: “It sounds like life. The trick is to figure out what makes you personally happy. There is no blueprint, no manual, no right or wrong way. There is only the understanding of what you personally need, not what others expect you to need.”
Jeanne: “Still, the being alone part…”
Tree: “You’re not alone. You have me.”
Jeanne: “But you’re just a tree.”
Tree: “No, I’m also a friend. I have always been here for you. And I have a thousand branches to hold you when nobody sends you flowers.”
Jeanne: “Aw, that is so sweet of you.”
Tree: “Well, I can get a little bit sappy sometimes.”
Previously published. Minimal changes made.
Status Update: Some of you may have noticed that I’ve been a bit AWOL from WordPress recently. Suffice it to say that I had dental surgery last Wednesday, with an errant tooth being yanked and the foundation for an eventual implant being shoved into the violated space. As such, I’ve not been particularly invested in blogging activities, choosing instead to wallow in the “sick bed” and rue the existence of truculent body parts.
Now that I’m almost back to my regular self (a concept that frightens many a family member, who would much prefer that I remain compromised and therefore can’t pen missives about them), it’s going to take me a bit to catch up on things. In the interim, I hope you enjoyed this reshare of an older post. This entry is admittedly Hallmark Movie Channel in nature, but it’s just where my mind is at the time, with said mind addled by five successive days of Hydrocodone, antibiotics and a satanic solution that I must swill and spit SIX TIMES a day until that wretchedly-enormous bottle is empty.
The madness never ends.
Categories: Past Imperfect