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Location: Work.
Listening: "Mystery" by Indigo Girls.

I mentioned in my post two days ago that Peter and I don't celebrate Valentine's Day. The reasons behind this are varied, but the lack of observance mainly stems from discussions we had very early in our relationship about the nature of love--particularly, about the nature of love versus the concept of love that the media perpetrates. We agreed that love has become a commodity in our culture (what hasn't, really?) and that too few people actively practice what they feel to be acts of love as opposed to what the media and other social influences have told them are genuine and actively pressure them into doing (ever really thought about those De Beers engagement ring commercials, where the not-so-subtle implication is that, if you aren't willing or able to spend at least two months' salary (which varies wildly from person to person, so it's less about the actual monetary output and more about what is perceived as the "appropriate" financial offering) on a diamond, your feelings for someone are less valid than they would be if you were? I've always been of the opinion that, if someone is asking you to spend the rest of your life with them, the last thing on your mind should be how much they paid for the ring. If it's not, you should do everyone in the situation a favor and walk away...).

But I digress...

Coincidentally, we both had never seen much purpose in Valentine's Day--especially if one remembers to treat his/her partner with respect, consideration, and affection every day. A dozen roses, chocolates, and dinner on one day out of the year won't really make up for a year of forgetting to appreciate the person you're with. So we agreed to concentrate more on the day-to-day and simply let the holiday pass us by.

Last night, we were planning to go out to Sushi Saurus, our favorite Japanese restaurant and sushi bar. Peter had been up the night before writing, and I had had about three hours of sleep before a long day of work, so we were both exhausted by 5, when I was still at work and he broke to lounge around until I got home. When I finally arrived at 1260 at 6:30, he was on the sofa, holding his rose that I had given him the night before, fast asleep. I tried to kiss him awake, but he simply murmured and rolled over. I managed to take the rose, which he had pressed between his eyelid and the pillow, out of his hand, despite his growling and trying to hold onto it. I finally determined to let him sleep, largely because I couldn't bring myself to wake him roughly.