Ode to dishwashing

The roommates hath eaten their dinner
Now off to the dishwasher they go
If dessert they want to eat
The dishes they must load.

The knives, they are sharp and pointy
But the spoons are harmlessly round
The forks clash mightily with the glasses
And produce a melodious sound.

The girls stacked their plates in orderly fashion
So as best to remove all of the soil
Then came the detergent; the door was shut
Lo and behold! the dishwasher is full.

Rejoice, rejoice! the girls did merrily
Eager to satisfy the demanding sweet tooth
They peered into the pantry with great anticipation
Ready to cook their cake and eat it too!

S.A.D

The time once again approaches. Every year, it is inevitable. The month of January crawls inexorably toward February, and once the shortest month of the year arrives, it's only a matter of days.
You know what I speak of. Valentine's Day is fast-approaching, once more.
Of all the holidays that come to pass in one year, Valentine's Day always strikes me as the most fabricated, the most Hallmark, of them all. It's a very gooey sentiment, celebrating love and lovers; I've never really wrapped my mind around the concept.
My history of Valentine's Days, in a nutshell:
- Elementary school: forced to give cards to everyone, so that no one feels rejected.
- Middle school: secretly longing for someone to buy me a Valentine Gram (sold for a paltry dollar and delivered during class).
- High school: Resignedly accepted my fate to be alone on Sap Day; turn my attention to giving gifts of chocolate and overly pink cards to my friends, instead.
And that's been my approach ever since. In all my 20 years of existence, I've never once celebrated a Valentine's Day with any lover of any sort, but it's only been in the last few years that I've come to terms with it. Nowadays, I celebrate love in its other forms - I give cards of appreciation to my friends, I hand out chocolate to anyone and everyone - and I pelt people whom I feel are being overly affectionate (at least, I imagine myself doing so).
This Valentine's Day looks to be no different. No lover, but no cares. I'll be on duty - I've warned my residents that I'll document people for overly excessive PDA. :] I'll give cards, I'll arm myself with candies (my friends gave me a couple of bags of my favorite Valentine's Day treat - Hershey's Hugs!) and fling them at the unsuspecting, and I'll enjoy the love and affection of true friends.
I've never known any other sort of love on Valentine's Day, and this year, I won't be looking for it. I'm more than pleased with what I've already got.
<3

Ah, l'amour

I have an obsession - a passionate, deep, unabiding love - for words. I analyze them constantly - their original meanings, their societally ascribed meanings, their connotations (both negative and positive). I look to their surfaces - the way they're spelled, the way they look when written on paper (have you ever noticed how funny "week" is?). Occasionally, when my vocabulary slips below the surface and leaves me floundering, I'll invent a word or turn a noun-verb-adjective into an adjective-noun-verb (or any other combination that 3 X 3 makes. YOU'RE the math major/taking math classes - what's the total number of possible combinations?).
Sometimes, I wonder what possessed people to create the words that now constitute the English language (I really only take into consideration English because that is the only language I'm fluent in).
Very rarely am I ever speechless. There are so many words, phrases, sayings, expressions to sum up my feelings. It isn't very often that I am unable to describe how I am feeling.
So why is it that one little emotion can leave me without words? Why is one little, stupid failing of the heart so incomprehensible? There have been countless numbers of poems, essays, novels, and so forth written on the subject, but has it ever really been defined? Described? Explained?
I have an all-consuming love for words and their subtleties, their nuances - but my words cannot ever fully encompass love.
Funny, how words work sometimes.