Shoot me now.

My friendsfriends list is Red Sox Nation tonight.

It's as though they see the wounds that opened up earlier tonight and are just loading up on the salt.

I collapsed when I saw what was happening. I may have mentioned that.

Wasn't exaggarating. I'm talking legs refusing to support weight of body, sagging back against wall, slipping off wall, and down to the ground like a felled tree.

May have wrenched the knee, too.

Maybe it was partly due to having four hours' sleep in the last three days.

But Red Sox Nation rubbing salt in my wounds doesn't help at all. Not at all.

I was taught to be gracious in victory. I grew up knowing little enough of victory in my life.

Losing has always hurt for me. Maybe that's why I cherished the Yankees' recent run so much; I needed *something* that felt like victory.

I tried never to gloat. I even made an effort to put things in perspective tonight.

Doesn't make the pain any less. Doesn't make the salt sting in the wounds any less.

Close entry.

Put out an APB on sleep

One-twenty in the morning and nowhere near sleep.

Can't go on like this. Two hours' sleep last night, maybe three the night before. Probably contributed to my breakdown this evening.

Not pleasant, what happened.

Head splitting open from a headache, too. Took two Tylenol (yeah, I know, health risks, but much more sleep deprivation would lead to me walking into traffic or jumping off the Palisades, so I'll chance a dose of Tylenol), and hoping that sometime, somehow, they take effect.

Will likely not be worth speaking to until well into the morning tomorrow.