V-Day.

One and a half hours into V-Day and the biggest event I'm looking forward to is 7pm's laundry time. When I get to ostracize myself from the world outside and do what I've been looking forward to for the entire month of February (aside from laundry) -- cleaning my friggin' room. Finally. Goddammit. V-Day should come more often, seriously.

Today was a crummy day. Not a bad day per say, but...meh. Got a call from a random I met at a club I had no intention of calling. I only exchanged numbers because I was trying to teach a girl the ropes (ie. how to pick 'em up). Went to work, and one of my favorite colleagues informed me he was leaving in a few months. Had a meeting with at least one misogynist in the room. Had dinner with a friend at a sub-sub-par Korean restaurant, and almost caught a cold walking home because I had the awesome idea of wearing my fall coat in winter weather. Came home and got yet another call from a guy (friend?) that I had to try three times just to end the call and get off the phone. Couldn't remove an ugly zit on my collarbone. Got fat pictures of yours truly in an email (thank god they didn't end up on the internet). Ingested too much junk food and way too much chocolate. Took me at least half an hour to remove the sarcasm from my own email to a douchebag who clearly didn't deserve that effort. Had to write an apologetic email to a guy that I kinda liked because of a mess up. And messed up with a guy that I really liked. Or maybe it was the right thing to do.

I hate the thought of me complaining because I'm clearly whining here. "I hate living in a war-torn country" is a valid complaint; everything else I've just mentioned isn't. But in the end I don't care enough about today for me to remember this tomorrow, do you know what I'm saying? I just can't wait for tomorrow evening to be able to do my laundry, iron my clothes, clean my room, and scrub my bathroom, all in that order. I'm not even joking.

Conversations.

These past few days I grew a little. I chose to do the right thing for myself instead of the one that would've been the easy way out. One of those decisions I would've messed up on at a younger age, a year ago even.

My brother sent me a one-sentence email telling me that he feels like how I felt a year ago. Like I was gonna die here, he said. Let's talk about it later, I replied. That night, we skyped. We exchanged perfunctory remarks, let our webcams run, and continued clcking and typing away at our computers. Neither of us made a mention of this afternoon's topic. But I guess we didn't have to. Sometimes conversations happen without words; sometimes you can feel better without needing to hear any supporting assurances. After half an hour, I broke the silence by saying I needed to take a shower. Me too, he said, and laughed. I felt like my job was done.