really. cry, cry, cry.
i watched two movies on the flight home: The Interpreter (cry, cry — two times); and, The Upside of Anger (cry, cry, cry, cry, cry — yes, five frickin’ times).
i’m sick of the painful clenching of the throat. i’m tired of the burning moistness in the corners of my eyes. i’m weary of the self-consciousness that comes with scrunching up my face to stave off full-fledged weeping.
life was easier 20 months ago, when i didn’t cry. sometimes i wouldn’t mind so much going back.