I got my fleece (and a half) in the mail today. I haven't opened up the box yet. I spun the alpaca fiber (the huacaya kind). It was a dream to work with.

And all day at work I put on a happy face.

But...there is no color in my life, in my heart. I don't know why I write here. Nothing that I think or feel or hurt or want or dream matters. And if that sounds all pouty, I don't mean it that way. It's just...I'm nothing. I don't matter.

But who hides from nothing? Who slams the door in the face of nothing? So, I am not really nothing. I am something, something kind of awful maybe. And I am afraid to find out what this awful thing that I am might be....because you're a good person, a reasonable person. You wouldn't act this way towards somebody unless there was a good reason for it.

And the a part of me, growing ever fainter by the day, says, "wait a minute! You cannot define your self worth and identity on the basis of someone else's actions and reactions." But see, these are just words, just thoughts, concepts. They don't fly very far in the face of real life playing out in front of you, telling you the opposite, again and again. Truth hurts.