It's that time of year again: Valentine's. It always sucks for me. My depression is at its highest. Perhaps its because my own cowardice always prevents me from even seriously considering asking a girl to go out for the evening. I feel horribly alone watching all these couples just materialize out of the woodwork while I sit alone on the sidelines, forlorn. At times, I think Sartre might have been right and that Hell really is other people, but I'm quite often alone, and believe me, if that's Heaven, then I am metaphysically screwed. I think Sartre may have been dead wrong on this one. At least, I hope he was. It brings me no comfort if loneliness is the best thing in the world, because it bloody sucks.

In other news of the world, a good friend of mine is going into surgery for gall-bladder stones. This year, she has been one of the few constants that I could count on in my otherwise chaotic life. It hurts just to imagine her in the kind of pain she has described to me, and if there were anything I could do to diminish that pain, I would do it in a heart-beat.

What else has happened? Life is continuing as it always has, and will continue to do so. I'll probably just have to stay out of the room Friday night when Peter's fiance comes out. It would be a damn shame if I were to walk in on them.