a history of tears

In the past year I have sobbed three times. Once last June when I made a dubious reading choice: Marley & Me. Spoiler Alert, the retarded dog dies. Which threw me right over the edge. Stupid retarded dog.

Then I cried three weeks ago when I read that the Cornish Rex lifespan was 10-12 years. Bartleby the retarded gay showcat is 9. Hence, more tears as I cradled his hairless, five pound body and rocked and sobbed. That alone took a year off his life, poor thing.

I think I was overdue for a spring cleaning of the tear ducts. Tonight I sat on the stoop and imbibed copious amounts of red wine while my neighbor and I discussed the travesty of death. She recently lost her Grandmother, I lost my Father, Mother, both Grandmothers and a Grandfather (though not recently). I sobbed. I even wiped snot on my sleeve. In conclusion, I miss my Dad. And drinking this much on a school night was ill-advised. Additionally, crying really fucks your sinuses.

It's cool. I'm good now for another year.

Comments

[Darla]

Me too.