tuckova

I cry a lot. I mean really a lot. I cry because something is sad, okay. I
also cry because something is funny. I cry when things seem sweet. I
cry for death, sure, or cruelty. But I also cry at weddings, I cry any
time children are singing, I cry reading metafilter threads. Bob Marley
would not have known what to do with me. It is almost ridiculous.
Lugubrious. I think I wasn't always this way;
in fact I was talking to one of my old friends, and he said he'd never
seen me cry. Never. But people who have known me more recently just sort
of
take it as a thing about me, like how I sneeze never once but at least
three times. You just have to hand me tissues and wait till it's
over in both cases. It's gotten to the point where I can cry for a solid
hour before anybody says "what's up" I mean it's like how you don't
bother to say "Gesundheit" until I'm done, because really, it's boring.

And I think, I like to think, that I feel everything intensely, that
this is just part of me. You had a fight with your friend and I am
defensive and wounded with you. You are hot in the summer sun and though
I am fine there is a trickle of sweat down my back, I'm sure. Your
delight and I'm smiling so hard my teeth itch. It's like somebody dialed
my empathy up to a point where it's so loud that all I can hear is all
this feeling.

And then other times it's like: you know what? I'm sitting here
alone, and it's raining outside finally, and I'm reading Tennessee
Williams, and I'm crying because I've actually lost my personal mind.
Which is also possible.