We're All A little Mad

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Valentine’s Day, the new ‘blue Monday’ (and on a Thursday no less).

So Valentine’s Day. I can hear the groans of melancholy across the broadband cables, for a day dedicated to the idea of Love and all things Romantic it’s a contentious subject. 

I decided this year to Google the origins of Valentine’s Day as we all know the common saying: “Valentine’s Day was created by Hallmark for profit” It turns out, Valentine’s Day, or the Feast of Saint Valentine, has origins dating back to the pre-Christian era. In ancient Rome, the 13th, 14th and 15th were celebrated as Lupercalia, a pagan fertility festival. Young men would strip naked and use whips to spank the backsides of young women in order to improve their fertility (I am not making this up, I swear: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/women/sex/valentines-day/7187784/History-of-Valentines-Day.html).  Circa 496 AD the then Pope, Gelasius, declared 14th February to be St Valentine’s Day, a Christian feast day. Christianity sure knows how to take all the fun out of a holiday. And today? We send around a billion Valentine cards each year, not to mention the amount of money spent on gifts and flowers and chocolate. (I hear sometimes you don’t have to buy them for yourself.)

As it turns out, Valentine’s Day has a real history. It may now be over commercialised, but surely you can say that for all pagan come Christian holidays? What about Christmas? Easter? You can’t tell me those holidays are not dominated by cards – credit and paper. But underneath all those clichés, red roses, heart shaped chocolate boxes and teddy bears (come on guys have some imagination), there is a wonderful day. Everyone has someone who loves them all year round and Valentine’s Day is a wonderful excuse to tell them. For all you cynics who still think it is nonsense, use it as an excuse to get drunk mid-week (preferably not on your own, there is nothing worse than drinking alone on Valentine’s day, except perhaps drinking alone and watching The Notebook...).  

The thing about Valentines’s Day, whether you are a skeptic  one of those super romantic types (with little hand cut heart confetti, balloons and love heart underwear) or somewhere in between, is that it will without a doubt get you thinking about Love. This year, Valentines’ Day certainly got me thinking about my own romantic life. I am 26 and tragically single. I say tragically not in the sense of my own emotional stability, but more in regard to my current lack of romantic prospects *cue image of tumbleweed blowing in the wind and string quartet *. I’m not fishing for sympathy here; I am, despite appearances, not a crazy cat lady. So what is the hold up?  

Maybe I’ve become more idealistic in my pursuit of love. I wasn't idealistic when I was 20. I wasn't settling but perfection didn't seem so imperative. I was happy testing the waters, growing as a person, playing the field, opening new doors, and all those other hackneyed sayings. But now the moment I like someone, even a little, there are a hundred questions going through my head. Questions that by the time I have answered conclude with one simple point: there are too many incompatibilities; too much friendship and not enough romance, too much romance and not enough laughter. 

It is conceivable these thought patterns are detrimental, that my ideals prevent me from diving head first into someone (metaphorically and actually) who could be everything I ever wanted just because he might not fit in the big heart-shaped box I built for him. But the counter argument always stands; why should I settle? Square pegs round holes; it just isn't going to work. I am by no means an elitist; my list of traits and requirements is not a mile long. Realistically it could be said I want three things; laughter, friendship and passion. Surely those are the broad strokes that make up the tapestry of any good love story? Consequently it's not that I am idealistic but realistic; it's not settling, it's knowing what you want. Mediocre won't work anymore. So, for me, in my little nest of social philosophy, until the right guy comes along, preferably wearing a bow-tie and shares a love of Harry Potter that teeters on obsession, my friends will  have to bear the brunt of my love, often clingy, always physical and rarely muted. 

The Death of the New Years Resolution

It’s coming to the end of January! My bank balance and my conscience are very happy about this. Who came up with the idea of 6 weeks between pay cheques at the most expensive time of year? They were either masochistic or loaded. Same goes for New Year’s Resolutions, after one too many G&Ts you profess ‘life needs to change’. Then in the cold light of January 1st the hangover kicks in, a hearty breakfast solves one, but that bargain you made with the Universe, that one lasts a little longer...

I went approximately 16 days with mine (a new record I might add!). My resolution was to be more tolerant of people’s foibles. You know those little character traits that grate on you? Those ticks and habits people have that sit somewhere between nails on a chalkboard and a punch in the face?  The ones always so petty you are ashamed to admit they irritate you, irritate is the wrong word, make you want to rage out is more fitting. You get my point. I figured if I could learn to tolerate these niggling irritations I would simply be a much happier person.

Day one (technically the 2^nd of January, I figure the 1^st doesn’t count as it was spent in the bleary haze of food and friends) went by without a hiccup. I smiled at everyone, said thank you to my bus driver and took a deep breath when a gentleman, although calling this guy a gentleman is a disservice to the few gentlemen left in this world, cut in front of me queuing for a coffee. Rather than vocalising my irritation, or imagining him dropping his cup on the way out of the door, I ordered my coffee with a smile on my face. Curiously this simple adjustment worked out delightfully; the lovely Baristas gave my extra stamps on my loyalty card. Rude guy nil, Maddy one.

 

The subsequent days passed in somewhat of a slow, downward spiral. I started to feel like I might be on a rollercoaster, with the inevitable drop just around the corner. In the metaphor of my life this stomach leaching drop represents reaching breaking point and shouting at someone. That looming threat heightened the pressure of perpetual niceness. One week in I started to work with my headphones in and music up loud to mask keyboard tapping and the perpetual cough of a colleague. By day 15, I’m fairly sure you could see the beads of sweat on my forehead as a lady sat next to me on the bus, took over a seat and a half and tutted when I bumped her just to reach into my pocket. At this point in our commuter tango I was practically snogging the window in an effort to compensate for her reincarnation as a space invader. Needless to say the pressure of my resolution was starting to show. It was on this 15^th day of my resolution – Wednesday January 16 2013 – that I had the annual New Year awakening. I remembered resolutions are made amidst the hallucinogenic ambience of New Years Eve; reality is always a little less acute, hidden beneath flashing lights and clinking glasses. Because of this, resolutions can (and probably should) be moderated. I can still thank the bus drivers and take a deep breath before reacting, but I can also kick and scream every now and then – you know pressure release like a valve on a boiler.  

Despite already falling off the wagon, I do think, for once, I’ve made a resolution that might stick. Here’s two reasons: one, I know for a fact I have a foible (or two) that can push other peoples buttons; I am a morning person...even on a Saturday, I’m up and I need attention (somewhere between a toddler and a Jack Russell). And two, the anger and irritation is not worth holding onto; it just creates a vipers nest of hostility and right now I still firmly believe 2013 is going to be my year. So bring on the perpetual coughs, the people who take up too much room on the bus and the holes in my favourite shoes on a rainy day; I’m waiting here with a smile on my face and a small bottle of Gin in my hand.