So, I don’t know much about what type of people actually read this blog, but I’m hoping you all (I say “you all” even though it’s not really a lot) are emotional wrecks like I am. No–not really. I take it back; I hope everyone is at least semi-sane and has their ship together in one piece.
I do hope you have a sense of humor though and don’t take me too seriously–that would be a travesty.
Anyway, I thought I should mention that I am, what some people might describe as, “a chronic weeper.” I cry. I just cry and cry and cry. At the smallest fraction of emotion I will be in tears (this clip of Kristin Bell totally resonates with me).
I don’t know why it happens, but it’s kind of alarming sometimes.
I’ll cry if I’m happy. I’ll cry if I’m sad. I’ll cry if I’m scared. I don’t get it.
I get overwhelmed by other people’s emotions–just by seeing someone else’s happiness makes my eyeballs drown in salty discharge. Likewise, if I see someone on TV (or in real life) start to cry, I will cry.
Seeing happy kids with dreams for their futures and happy families really brings out the waterworks. That is like a 100% guarantee. All the time, every time–puts me in tears. Honestly, anything to do with little kids being happy or sad tugs at my heartstrings.
I don’t even have to see it. Just reading things makes me cry.
If I listen to a song that is particularly beautiful, I will cry.
I think you get the picture . . .
. . . I must have gotten stuck in some phase of child development.
Recently, I was watching an episode of The Office. For those of you who haven’t been following, I’m warning you now: spoiler alert. I was watching the episode of Cece’s ballet recital–Pam is more technologically challenged than she thinks and Jim gets super upset, making Pam cry.
This just threw me out of my chair and slammed me against the floor (not really, but that’s what it felt like). I was sitting in my little room, tears streaming down my cheeks, sniffling and sobbing while staring at my monitor. I was inconsolable.
The show was over and I was just sitting like a dummy, crying my eyeballs out.
My mom comes in my room to ask me a question. She sees me weeping at nothing and is immediately concerned–probably thinking my love life is in shambles and I’ve just had my heart broken, or my cat died and I don’t even have a cat . . . something extreme.
I turn to her, wipe my cheeks, and have to explain that I was just watching a show.
And then she laughs. (Maybe I imagined this, but I’m pretty sure it happened).
She just laughs and laughs and laughs. And I go back to crying.
And that’s what I’m like when it’s not even “that time of month.” Imagine what a wreck I am for that week. I don’t even want to go there–ugh.