When I was six my mother took me to see “Tale of Two Cities” , the 1935 version. She loved Dickens, mandatory reading in our home. The whole social injustice thing, big deal in Janice’s home.  But that isn’t the point. The point is, that one of the highlights of my mother’s life, was telling people how I wailed, hysterically crying at the end, when the blade comes down.

My great Uncle’s wife, the forever enduring Aunt Chris cries at everything. I always felt less like a freak around her. Heck, Little House on the Prairie would send her into hysterics. Spring/Passover breaks in Westport, CT are some my happiest memories. But that’s another blog.

I cry when I’m angry, like when my head feels likes it’s going to explode. I cry about cancer, I cry when my kids make me happy, and I cry when I have PMS. I am the ultimate random crier.

I use to try to stop myself, I don’t anymore, because crying gets the poison out. You can feel it leave your body. It’s like a baptism of tears. When I’m angry, my tears are hot and my face gets flushed. When I’m sad, I heave. When my kids make me happy, I give them kisses through tears. When I have PMS, I sit on the bus and cry like an idiot. When my mom died, I howled. I howled like a mad woman. I don’t even know if you can call that crying. I think the pain was equal to childbirth. The only thing worse would be burying your child.

The times I don’t cry are strange too. I didn’t cry when I left Radlan after 8 years. I cried each time they fired a good friend or my boss though. I didn’t cry when I told Oren I wanted a divorce, and I haven’t cried since. Because both were the right things to do.  I don’t think I’ve ever cried over Oren, I guess I’m just emotionally detached from the entire situation. I guess I was just so dead by the time I left, I couldn’t feel anything.

Crying is good. Sometimes you just need a stupid chick flick (BTW, my favorite is Waiting to Exhale. Thanks ETKB) and a bottle of red wine. Sometimes you just need to sit on the couch and get it out of your system.

So if you ever see me crying (like today on the bus), know this is a good thing. This is me being me. This is what I do. This is how I know I’m alive.