I resisted last night the urge to do what I have done on occasion in the past, to use this journal as a communication device, to say things I haven't been able to say in person that do need to be said. It's not fair to the person I need to say these things to. It's airing dirty laundry in public, I guess, when the other party doesn't know there is any dirty laundry.

But I write here when there is something eating at me, and there is. Yes, there is the depression caused by a wide array of sadnesses, but that lifts from time to time. Everybody gets the blues, everybody has woes. That's not such a big deal, really.

"You're nobody until somebody loves you," goes the song. I forget the origins, but the Eric Clapton version is all in my head, and normally this is offensive, this whole idea that you have to have someone else to give vailidity to your existence. But it's really just a feeling, not to be taken literally. It's the sound of loneliness. It's just an expression, and one I can understand.

I won't whine that nobody loves me. I know people love me. It's just easier to feel secure when they show it, like my children and my cat do. They leave no room for doubt; they take every opportunity. And they meet very physical needs that all us mammals have.

I'll be late for work. That's all I am gonna say.