and so alive

I had a stupid wanky entry here. I have got rid of it, because it was wanky. Instead, I shall just express joy that my friends-of has reached 200 (wtf, world, wtf, I am boring as toast), and ask politely if anyone has Ryan Adams' So Alive and could possibly upload it for me.

If I were St Valentine, I'd get myself martyred too.

Okay. Um. I think I'm going to have to complain. Because this, this is just not acceptable. It is February the fourteenth, people. International Flaunt Your Coupliness In The Face Of The Inherently-Incomplete-And-Consequently-Sub-Human Singletons Day. And what do we have? Not only the usual scented expressions of blissed-out coupledom, but traitorness and treason all over the goddamn shop, because, I tell you, even the singletons are revolting. We're supposed to band together! We're supposed to unite and watch girlie films and talk about how we're much better off anyway, and laugh wryly even though we all have IQs in triple figures and therefore are well aware that being better off anyway is some sort of wilfully self-delusional fiction, and then we're supposed to drink ourselves into oblivion.

Sadly for me, there are no singletons: all my friends are couply omg. All of them. I didn't even notice it happening. But Sky and Pat have been incommunicado all day, and Claire's grinning because Matty sent her something nice, and there are crocuses emerging in the garden quad and people skipping over the grass, and just, argh. Because I'm pretty sure I'd be behaving less hideously if everyone wasn't being so HORRIBLE. I know I'm single. I know. I knew it when I got up this morning, I knew it when I got my post in a post room suffused with the sweet scent of chocolate and RAG roses, and I know, I know, I know I'm going to die alone and be eaten by Alsatians you DON'T HAVE TO RUB IT IN.

...rage.

Just in an attempt to persuade you all that I'm not a horrible person but merely a normally-nice person behaving like a five-year-old, I did actually send some Valentines. I sent two. One I think has not arrived yet. The recipient of the other one has got it, but I don't know how they reacted. It wasn't signed, of course.

Also, I'd quite possibly be more equable about things if I hadn't spent four solid hours reading Keynes whilst everyone else was picnicking among the crocuses. And I've got another four chapters to go, before ten, at which point Claire is planning to drag me to the bar. She isn't actually eligible to go, because it's Singles Night (ohgod), but she says she wants to drink gin. You get a free drink if you pull in sight of the bar stuff, two free drinks if you pull a straight person of the same sex or a gay person of the opposite sex, and a free bottle of wine if you pull Lady Lindsay. In other words, hell on earth, but see above re: drinking self into oblivion.