A Valentine's Day poem from someone who's not my valentine:

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Sonnet XVII

I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
Or arrow of carnations that propogate fire;
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
Hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
And thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way
of loving
but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.

Pablo Neruda

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She gave this to me at work today, not because she's my valentine, but because she figured I could give it to that special someone in the future. Thank You Noe.

Happy Valentine's Day to those who are in like and love, and for those of us who aren't ... Black Wednesday is almost over ...

Like in the caveman days, the only two times I left the comfort of my lair was to gather food at the nearby Taco Bell and McDonald's.

Damn, I need to buy groceries.

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Been reading Thomas Harris' "Hannibal" and readying myself for the movie, which premiered Friday. Got mostly negative or middling reviews. Haven't read a fully positive one yet. Still looking forward to seeing it, though.

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Recently celebrated a birthday and traveled to Las Vegas on some work-related business. This is the second year in a row spent high in the air celebrating a birthday. My birthday. And all I can say is that the older one gets, the less spectacular each successive one becomes.

Before leaving on the trip, some co-workers took me out to a birthday lunch. For a stretch of time, the topic of conversation centered on kids. I don't know why. One co-worker talked about his daughter and how her report card was due that afternoon and how he was looking forward to it. Another co-worker wondered at what age should she allow her son to stay alone at home by himself. As I phased in an out of the different kid conversations, I realized I was the youngest at the table. And that deep down inside, I still felt like a kid myself.

With this realization, I had an inner panic attack -- I couldn't hold back the urge to tell someone, anyone, this small bit of terrifying information. I ended up telling Kanoe, sitting next to me, who's the receptionist at where I work.

"Kanoe, you guys are all talking about kids, while I myself still feel like one."

She laughed and said, "Well, isn't that good?"

And then I thought to myself, is it? I don't know. I'm supposed to be a grown-up, with grown-up responsibilities and such. But take away the rent, the bills, and the fact that I drive a car and can consume alcohol legally, I'm still a kid with his toys. Living day to day, paycheck to paycheck without a damn clue where his next meal is coming from.

Probably from Taco Bell or McDonald's.