It's late at night that I hurt.

I wonder what that's about. What chemistry goes on in my head during the day to kill me like that? It's all that time to sit and think, and while I sleep, if I sleep, my mind replenishes its store of serotonin or something, and I wake up feeling better. There are still the lingering remnants that I cried myself to sleep - puffy eyes, a little crusty - but I feel nestled and comforted by the pillows and duvet after they held me all night.

And of course, once again my fears are unfounded. They are often so. Fleet rang me this morning in the most cheerful of spirits, he had a wonderful weekend. He went sailing, the wedding at which he was videographer went very well (he won the limbo contest, calling his victory at the start like Babe Ruth), and he missed me.

That's all I needed to know. Really. Isn't that pathetic? I needed to know that he was ok, that he was happy, and that he missed me. The dark bog that sank me last night and had started to dry this morning, evaporated instantly.

That's how sensitive I am.

Good thing it works both ways. It doesn't take much to destroy me, but it doesn't take much to elate me either.

I guess I am luckier than I give myself credit for.

Now I just have to watch myself in those dark bogs in case they really take me under.

and please tell me SOMEONE got the reference in the title...