Hung out with a friend last night. We watched a movie, had a few drinks, and ast up until after 3:30 talking. We talked about quite a bit, and of course after a few drinks, I shared more, more readily, than I would usually. But its cool because I didn't let too much slip, and that that I did say was no big deal anyway. Today we were going to work on carving me a stamp to go letter boxing with, however I lost all my courage. The stamp that I want to carve, and have tried a few times to carve already, are of my dog... Cubby. I was afraid of the raction I would get if my friend found out, afraid that she might tell someone at work, and they would know that I still miss him, that it still hurts, that maybe I am not as ok as they think I am. And I don't want them, any of them, to know. Not really. I don't think they should have to worry about it, worry about me. I also have moments when I feel they are not worthy of knowing. Where they are the enemy, and you never let the enemy know when you are wounded. Maybe next time I won't chicken out.