worriedDon't know that much of last night's downtime could be counted sleep; my teeth ground to the point of pain. When my mother called this morning, I desperately wished she were someone else, calling to say she's OK, or just calling to say something. Kept myself busy and upbeat at work, but left early when I knew I couldn't keep it up. Kept my sunglasses on when Heather came to bring me a card so she wouldn't challenge my assertion that I'm fine. The knot in my stomach remains my compainion; a hint of bile permeates my taste.
I'd never argue with the claim that I am too sensitive in some areas. My history makes me react to some things with great emotion, more than I can rationally control. I have buttons, and they've been pushed. I've lost too much to react otherwise.
