When you don't hear from me, it doesn't mean I don't love you. I find myself wishing I could say that to so many people I know, while I keep trying, over here, to figure out how to start getting life in order.

I did my best tonight, as I walked from the grocery store (where I tried broadening my range to include not just food for dinner but also some nice things to eat tomorrow morning), to send out as much hope and affection as I could to the couples in restaurant windows, the women carrying bouquets of flowers, the men and women heading home alone. If people could actually see my fervent hoping as I go walking around here, I would be nothing but a thin tall pillar of flame.

Late in the day, I find myself gravitating to Björk as this holiday's tutelary genius. I'm revisiting a good old favorite; it's a song I didn't know until my beloved friend Nick put it on a mix CD he gave me for Christmas one year when I really, really needed it. And that one, in turn, sends me here (where there's nothing much to see, simply because the official video horrifies me). Which sends me here. I oscillate between those last songs: I haven't met you yet. As much as I definitely enjoy solitude / I wouldn't mind, perhaps, spending little time with you / sometimes, sometimes... I know by now / that you'll arrive. Where's the love you promised me? / Where is it?

And then I remember: I'll bring back the goods / but I don't know when.

And then YouTube gives me a Valentine's present, in the forms of PJ Harvey and Björk just rocking the fuck out. Thanks, YouTube. And thanks, women. Someday I might even get to turn to another part of the songbook.

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone.