Saturday I picked my dogs up at the kennel, and I had to hang my head and look away when I saw Charley bounding toward me because I got choked up and wouldn’t have been able to speak.
At Glen Eyrie and last week in Texas, I’d be in the middle of talking about a story–mine and other people’s–and suddenly I couldn’t talk any more. I’d have to stop and tell a joke or collect myself, and after a while it got a little embarrassing.
At the Glen, my class kept urging me to “get mad,” every time that happened, so I’d try to get mad instead of getting choked up, but I’m not sure that effort worked at all.
And movies! Oh, my. When we showed “Departures” at Glen Eyrie, I wept all the way through even though I’d seen the movie three times. And I don’t weep prettily. My nose runs and I end up blowing my nose loud enough to be heard across the room.
At the Texas Writing Academy this past week, I showed “Lars and the Real Girl” to my class, and though I’ve seen that movie at least seven or eight times, I cried all the way through it–and in places I’d never cried before.
And that’s not all–when someone begins to tell me their story, if it’s sad at all, the next thing I know, I’m weeping–with or without them. 🙁
Maybe it’s hormones, or maybe it’s just life, but I’ve never been this prone to tears. I’m more a thinker than a feeler, but lately, I’m just a crier. I could be a sobber, if given a little privacy.
Anyone else ever feel like this? All I know is that I’ve learned to keep the tissues handy.