Curse you, Beatles! For Encouraging Obnoxious Hand-holding!

I don't really hate The Beatles for wanting to hold hands. I, too, enjoy holding hands. But because of all the hand-holding wheverever I go, I have become increasingly aware of my availability.

My knitting friend calls Valentine's Day, "Single Awareness" Day. She calls it that assumming that couples are aware they are not single and single people become aware that they suddenly are. It's a clever name. Why I bring it up is because I feel like it has spread to a whole week for me. I find myself watching couples walk hand in hand down the street and wondering if they're happy. Sometimes I count them, and sometimes I make up stories about them as you would of a rorsach. It's become partly amusing, partly annoying.

Working at the movie theater is tough. Nearly everyone coming in is on a date, and I have become a part of their lives, servicing them in a way to make their date more enjoyable. Sometimes they show me a little of their warped relationship, of their complex love, or of their budding affections. Other times I don't know what I'm seeing two people on a date or two people just going through the motions.

Most of my friends were hand-holders once. It made me uncomfortable to hand out with them since everyone was walking around like some kind of bridal aisle, hand in hand. Now most of them have lost or dumped their respective partners in exchange for empty hands. Mine are buried deep in my pockets, and if someone were to rip them out of their caskets, they'd probably find broken fingers.

I'm not lonely, but I am feeling quite singular. I thought I found someone willing to put up with my sweaty palms, but it turns out it was a false alarm. If the world is going to start a classic chain of hand holding then I should probably get started on my finger pushups. But until the chainstarts, I'll probably be watching Across the Universe for the ten thousandth time with my hands buried in my pockets, typing with these ridiculous elbows.