So here it is, Valentine's Day 2010, and I'm sitting in a coffee shop in my "virgins are hot" Tshirt. The hippies are outside smoking, the recent high school grads are crowded into a booth behind me, an old guy is across the room with his laptop and wireless mouse, and a young couple is cuddled up in the loveseat.

Coincidentally, my ex boyfriend is working out at the gym across the street.

I don't suppose this day is any worse than the one in which a well-meaning casual friend asked if I was engaged yet. I shook my head, updated her on the situation, listened to her sympathy, and fled. I drove away in tears.

And it's not any worse than the day I watched a friend's month-old baby for a while, then smelled formula on myself for the next few hours. Each whiff was a reminder--not me, not mine... Ever?

Today has been tearless, unless another well-meaning someone else asks sympathetically how I'm doing. If that happens, I'll likely burst into tears.

I think it's safer to remain at home, where no one can be nice. Easier to build up walls that way.