4 hours sleep is not enough

Okay, first I need to correct something in the last post. When I said Cru is the mortal enemy of Salt, I was forgetting that computers fail at sarcasm worse than a newborn giraffe would fail a quantum physics test. Sorry about that, newborn giraffes everywhere, I'm tired and not in the mood to be politically correct to you.

Anyway, back on to the real post. Last night, I went to an engagement party for a couple of friends. I'm still not completely sure I believe it actually happened, and part of me expects them to shout "FOOLED YOU!" about a week from now--this is from the cynic in me that says you can't get engaged when you're not even dating. Congrats to them anyway. They're younger than I am, so I got that feeling that I'm old and alone again--I thought I had gotten rid of that, but that shows what I know. The spam I've been getting that says I can get a free travel bag if I sign up for AARP now doesn't help the old feeling.

--PAUSE WHILE I TRY NOT TO QUOTE FROM MONTY PYTHON AND THE QUEST FOR THE HOLY GRAIL--

-Old woman!
-Man!
-Sorry, old man!
-I'm 37!
-What?
-I'm 37, I'm not old!
-Well I can't just call you man.
-You could call me Dennis.
-I didn't know you were called Dennis.

--PAUSE WHILE I FEEL SHAME AT FAILING TO NOT QUOTE--

I also think I'm developing allergies, which is true, but it was also a good cover-up for my eyes looking like they're about to burst with tears--not sure if they really looked like it, but they felt like it.

What made me the most sad, however, was answering the old "How are you doing?" question that about half the people who talked to me asked. I could never be a professional poker player. My emotions are right out for everyone to see. Because I couldn't hide that I was feeling lousy, I felt like I had to keep rehashing the fact that my parents are getting divorced. The more I repeated this, the more I realized that I'm not as okay with it as I had thought. By 9:30, the effort it took to keep from breaking down in tears was making me exhausted, so I took off. I chose not to take the stairs up to my apartment, and I think if I had taken them, I wouldn't have made it. As it was, I made it into the elevator and broke down.

I made it back to my apartment, and finished the crying I had started in the elevator. When I was done, I felt awake again, so I decided to get back into my book--Insomnia by Stephen King. When my usual bedtime rolled around--11:00--I checked to see how far I was from the end, because it was getting exciting. Only 150 pages or so. Then I started to debate staying up and finishing it, and decided to, probably because some subconscious part of my mind knew that if I went to bed, I'd start crying again.

I finished up just before 3, and went to bed. Just as my subconscious mind suspected, I broke down again. I hate crying alone in the dark. It just makes me feel so empty.