I just said 'freaking'. Apparently, I am a 1980's B-boy.

No. I am not.

I am, however, frostbitten, because our coach decided that it would be a good idea to run laps outside, barefoot. In Colorado. In February. In the snow. This was unequivocally not a good idea but it did afford me the opportunity to yell 'Mother, it burns!' in the manner of Linda Blair, which has always been an ambition of mine. Also, we have a meet in less than three weeks, and are we ready? Are we bollocks. Oh, well, maybe MTV'll see fit to film it.

You know, my opinion of Valentine's Day is malleable like Kerri Strug. Usually I think it's beneath contempt, free from genuine emotion and tacky beyond belief. When, however, I receive hearts filled with chocolate, bearing a picture of a dolphin and the legend 'I flip over you', I suddenly become so much more grist to the mill of the capitalist machine. This, I would imagine, is the same part of my brain which suffers fits of pique over globalisation, yet still allows me to be clothed by Gap.

I worry, I really do.

However! Love is good. I like love. Because then you get to pretend that you're all metaphysical and deep, and you can read Gautier and say 'yes, peculiar French person, that's it exactly!' But, yeah. Apparently, love is indefinable, and if there's anything about it that you can measure or even identify, then that's your ego talking.

Which is nice.

Also, my political science lecturer today talked about Hillary's refusal to divulge information, and how that was 'the first time that executive priviledge had gone into the First Lady'. Which was so funny that I had to eviscerate myself with my pen in order to maintain self-control.

So I'm going to watch the Olympics, and try and figure out what's so interesting about figure-skating.