I don’t know exactly when it happened, but I am now a weeper. If I’m happy, I cry. If I’m scared, I cry. If I’m nervous, I cry. If I’m disappointed, I cry. And not the delicate handkerchief-to-corner-of-eye crying. I cry with gulping sobs that leave my face red for hours.
I used to cry maybe once a year. Now I’m lucky if I can get through a week without tearing up over something, be it an old song or NPR StoryCorps or the death of someone I DON’T KNOW. Or coming back from the store without toilet paper.
And I’m not depressed. While things could be better (please, someone…if you need a history teacher at your high school, WM needs to be a teacher at your high school. We’re approaching the 99 week threshold. Email me.) they’re certainly not bad.
I guess things are tugging at my heartstrings stronger than they did before. Or maybe the heartstrings just aren’t as taut as they used to be.