I refuse to descend into depression on a manufactured holiday which I would likely feel more charitable toward if I were not spending it alone, fighting off a cold, and waiting to be called at any moment into my mother's bedroom to empty her catheter bag. I resent these impositions. I am a terrible person.
So... Sylvia Plath on Valentine's Day. That's all I have the energy for. The poetry and anger of Otep got me through depression in my early twenties, kicked my ass out of apathy, into righteous fury. But today is not a day for rage. It's a day for tulips.
~Tulips (abbreviated), Sylvia Plath