the amateur

I love Valentine's Day. Mostly because it is an excuse to eat candy. And I typically love being single on Valentine's Day because I can do what I want, no expectation of some wildly romantic evening that certainly won't live up to what I imagine.

On this VD, I decided my Valentine is Adele, even though she doesn't know it, and doesn't reciprocate. This was a big weekend for Adele. Swept the Grammys and wowed the crowd (and everyone watching) with an amazing performance. So I've been listening to 21 today, reminiscing.

You see, there was a day, several months ago, when I sort of ran away. I left where I was, dressed in a pencil skirt and heels, got in my car and drove north. With no destination. I put 21 on repeat and cried my way north. For hours. I was hurting. I had never hurt so bad in my life. I didn't think I would make it. It's not that I wanted to die...I just thought I would. I figured I would stop breathing any minute now, and they would discover me in my car with Adele on repeat.

But I kept breathing. And driving. And crying. (So much crying.) And listening to Adele like I would find an answer somewhere between Rolling in the Deep and I Found a Boy. I didn't find an answer. But I found a companion.

Eventually, I went home. Not by choice. After that I changed the station every time Someone Like You came on because it was guaranteed to make me cry.

But that was months ago. I am better. 21 is an old friend again, instead of someone who witnessed me at my worst, who I'm embarrassed to see like that girl in high school who finds you crying in the bathroom.

OK, enough rambling. Happy Valentine's Day.