I once heard a story. This woman had had a hard day at work, one that was emotionally draining. Safe at home, she burst into frustration tears. Her daughter, 3 years old, toddled up, confused and puzzled.
"What's wrong?"
"I just had a heavy day," she said, smiling and patting her daugher's head. The girl paused, and cocked her head.
"Well, if it is heavy, why don't you just put it down?"
I bought a pair of boots yesterday. They are pure cowboy/motorcycle magic. Speaking of which, my father has promised to teach me to shoot this week. Pumpkins WILL be exploded. Rifle, shotgun, pistol. I convinced him by telling him that it was irresponsible, as a veteran and a gun-owner, to allow his daughter to turn 30 without having used a firearm. Also, how will I know what to do in the event of zombie invasion? He agreed my logic was flawless on both points.
I am making a habit of crying in public. It grows less embarrassing with time. At this point, I consider emotional vulnerability a disability on par with my vision. I can't see awesomely, I carry my glasses around. I burst into tears suddenly, I carry tissues. For I am a girl scout. (OK, or was...) Nah, really, it's more surprising for the people I'm with then disturbing to me. Man, invisible tears would be great. Emotional catharsis with no red-blotchies or puffy eyes!
This is what I am reading right now. Ian got me a signed copy at Harvest Market. Seriously. It's sort of amazing, and I'm not trying to be cute here. She grew up as a 2nd generation Lithuanian Jew, living in Salt Lake City. That's bound to make an interesting person. It does make me want to wash my brain out with Dostoevsky, but in the best way possible.