What a Monday morning...

[kitanzi]

When I'm seriously overtired I revert to being about eight years old - complete with tempertantrums. I take things way too personally - little things, stupid things, like an unintentional, unthinking slight from a friend or a seam on my pants ripping out when I bend over to pick something up - and I get so ugly in a spiral of whininess and bitchiness and self-disgust that *I* wish I didn't have to be in the same room with me.
What does my sweetheart do, tired as he is himself? He hugs me and loves me and gives helpful, sane advice when my claims of how hopeless and pathetic it all is get utterly ridiculous.
He loves me. Right this moment I'd be hard pressed to say why, but he loves me. How did I ever get this lucky