Why I Cry

As Sandy (Teri Garr) said to Michael (Dustin Hoffman) in "Tootsie" as they were leaving his apartment after his birthday party, "I cry all the time now ... like a tick."  I have always remembered that line, although I never quite understood it. Do ticks cry a lot? Or at all? Whatever, I am not a tick and I do cry all the time. 

This might be because I am what is known as a hyper-empath, which means I feel everyone's feelings as deeply as my own, even if they belong to people I don't know. These days my feelings are even sadder than usual, since there is war everywhere and hatred between everyday Americans and their neighbors, and senseless killings on the street of random young people just walking along or riding the subway, committed by lowlife, mentally deranged illegal immigrants who lack a soul and a reason to be here, or to be anywhere for that matter.

I cry for my cat who is now 19 and weighs just ten pounds, when he used to be ten and weigh 19 pounds. Lurch gets frailer every day and I know what his future holds, and mine. Until then, he is a pain in the ass, wanting me to hold him, brush him, feed him treats, pet him and generally not do anything that is not those things in order to make his remaining days, weeks or months pleasant.

I cry because my formerly-sane husband thinks spending $10,000 to be stuck inside a pine box and then lowered into a hole in the dirt for eternity -- after he's dead of course, which is even stranger since he won't even be able to enjoy it -- is a good use of his hard-earned cash.

I cry because my recent lab results showed that I am "pre-diabetic" and so I must take some immediate steps to avoid that horrible disease, meaning goodbye bagels, potatoes, pasta, rice, noodles, cookies, pretzels, fruits and anything else that could possibly make me stop crying.

Those TV commercials showing abused dogs, or children with cancer, or starving African babies ruin at least a few hours for me if I even glimpse them for a few seconds before shutting them off.

I cry because I am going on vacation next week and it will involve flying which is even worse now because of the horrible Democrats who have shut down our government and made the TSA lines longer and airports more chaotic. For example, just days ago a jet crashed into a fire truck on a runway and killed both pilots -- boo hoo, imagine their poor mothers getting that news -- as if flying wasn't bad enough already. 

Fortunately, I do not cry in my sleep, but I do cry the following morning because I did not sleep well and so wake up exhausted. I also do not cry while playing Words With Friends or watching "Sleepless in Seattle", "You've Got Mail" or "Apollo 13", so I see those repeatedly and try not to think about how Meg Ryan ruined her face with plastic surgery and how shitty she must feel seeing her glorious younger self, lest I cry about that. 

Also, any of Mike Birbiglia's Netflix specials make me laugh hysterically, so I thank God for those. But then I cry because I wish I could see him in person but he'll never come to Maine because who would? (Mainers have no sense of humor, it's a known fact.)