Romanticism

I'm eating about 800 calories a day, and jogging about 2 miles. The jogging is good for making me feel okay with eating twice the amount of calories I was eating daily, and is also good for giving me the sort of masochistic feeling I get from cutting, without actually cutting. Running is a sort of high, of course, the endorphins and all. But I still love cutting and have no idea how I'm going to quit.
Yesterday was Valentine's Day of course, and the first one in a few years that I've had a boyfriend. Guys are supposed to be the unsentimental ones, that just buy you roses, right (according to the stereotype)? Well first of all Matt would never buy roses since he knows that little kids and their families in foreign countries have to get up at ungodly hours of the day to go pick thorny roses for little or no money (he also doesn't approve of diamonds... apparently Mother Jones magazine has affected his opinions of the romanticism of diamonds and roses). But Matt did do something really creative and far more sentimental than my gift to him yesterday.
He gave me a loaf of bread (I love bread) and ninety-seven Hershey's kisses. Because he says (yesterday) it's ninety-seven days until my birthday. So it's a kiss for every day until he can kiss me again for real.
I just gave him chocolate, and C.S. Lewis's The Screwtape Letters, because that's an awesome theological book, and I knew he'd like it, although in its own way it's terrifying, kind of like the terror of The Lord of the Flies by William Goldes or Golding or whatever.
Anyway, Matt has proved himself every day to be respectful and sweet and romantic and sentimental and everything I want in a guy... so I guess I approve (I'm being sarcastic. Sometimes it's hard to tell in writing).