Clarissa. She tells me she's worried about me - that she feels "we either understand each other too well or not at all." I don't *want* to understand her too well, at the risk of sounding like a tempermental 5-year-old. That's how I'm feeling right now - I'm almost ready to just burst into tears, but I'm not about to do that around here. That's part of the reason why I haven't called Bret yet (that and the fact that it's not even 8am his time) - he's never seen me in that state. There are so few people I let see me like that - and I don't think there's a single person here I'd want to see me like that. Which is why I left the canteen yesterday at lunch when "Amazing Grace" came on - I suddenly got an image of my father's casket, with Capt. Miliano breaking down during his eulogy and my mother griping my hand
That thud was me chucking this notebook onto the table. I forced myself not to cry yesterday. I can do it again today. Although really the only thing I want to do is have a good, hard sobfest. And have someone I love hold me. That's all I've ever wanted out of one of these fits - not someone trying to talk to me, or calm me down, just someone to hold me and let me cry.
Good grief. I've gotten horribly sappy and pathetic and whatnot. Screw that - I will not be one of those "weepy women" I detest. Strength, remember?
I need soup.
