I have noticed an odd trend which would be a sort of revelation if it actually contained a definite, or even partially transcribable, meaning behind it. It also makes me want to live in an 11 month year.

The most meaninful relationships have ended in pink heart, singing teddy bear February.  It makes me want to aim one of cupid's arrows back at him this month. I've already told him to take the next year off, but still, it would be wildly cathartic exact my revenge on this mythological beast who chooses to mock me.

Conclusion drawn? These oddly sequential occurances constitute irony at its finest and a dismal display at that. Maybe I should take note of this and stock up on tissues, chocolate and indie films toward the end of January.