Quiet, cold and drippy. These may not be the most common words associated with Valentines Day, but at the moment, as I watch the clock unknowingly tick its way towards a solid twenty four hours of Hallmark Hell, they are certainly the most accurate. At just past one in the morning, all is peaceful. Mara's sleeping form is sprawled out next to my desk, snoring loudly; each breath a raspy loop that is only occasionally interrupted by the sound of all that pent up air from her lower intestine rushing out to fill my room with yet another dogfart. She doesn't seem to notice this rather dramatic deflation, and to a point, neither do I. Breathing in more gas than breathable oxygen probably helps me fall asleep. It IS Valentine's Day after all.