Tonight, I tried to imagine what life would be like if I willingly withdrew from the internet and all the fun projects that keep me busy here. At first, I thought it might lead me to a better life, filled with more meaningful relationships and rewarding hobbies and clean laundry and the perfect eyeliner.

But then I realized that my parents used to tightly control my internet access, and it just led to me playing more Sims 2.

If you took away my computer, I'd play video games. If you took away my video games, I'd watch television. No television? Books. No books? Piano. No piano? Knitting. No knitting? I'd stab you through the heart with a knitting needle because you would clearly be deserving it by that point.

All of this makes me wonder what I'm trying so hard to avoid. Why is it that I'd rather do anything but spend quality time with my family? Why do I refuse to allow myself any friends in Chicago? Why am I filling my life with nothing but meaningless pastimes? Why do I feel like I'm not actually living my life anymore?

Sometimes, I wish Juan Pedro the sock monkey had majored in psychology instead of cheap graph-making.

I was flopped upon my bed just now when I realized that we actually need Valentine's Day around to balance out April Fool's Day. After all, when your sweetheart says, "I love you!" on April 1st, you're never really sure how sincere he's being. At least on Valentine's Day, the motives are clear, and, even if they aren't, you at least get candy to ease your pain.

Yes, maybe the holiday is over-commercialized, but there are worse things for marketing teams to promote than love and flowers and chocolate. I, for one, am a huge fan of Valentine's Day. Although, if I'm being honest, that wasn't always the case.

Up until recently, I loathed Valentine's day. I swore up and down to anyone who would listen, "I would issue a royal decree banning this holiday if not for all the tasty treats involved." But then, my Clubber boys took me by surprise last year. A whole posse of them traipsed over from their floor to the courtyard outside my dorm room and presented me with chocolate, a bouquet of roses, and a healthy dose of hugs.

It was the cutest thing ever.

This year, as I gobbled down a heart-shaped pizza . . .

. . . and glanced at my presents from my mom . . .

. . . I realized that it's kinda nice to be reminded once in a while of all the loving and lovable people (and sock monkeys) in my life.

When I look at my hands, I see tiny scars and broken fingernails. My nail polish isn't a cool color, and most of it chipped off a week ago. Nobody will fall in love with me for my hands. As I sit down to play the piano, though, I remember why it's all worth it.

P.S. I still won't forgive you, though, Aaron Gibson, for recklessly swinging about your hockey stick in gym class and leaving a permanent mark on my knuckle. Unless, of course, you and your foreign accent have grown up to be dashing and gorgeous. If that's the case, scar call me anytime.

P.P.S. Should I put my GrandCentral number on my contact page? Is that weird? Will you leave me adorable messages when I'm too afraid to answer your calls?