What are we crying about lately?
Dooce's list...
Shucks. Dooce's list makes me realize that the 2nd trimester is over for me--and the crying might start again. Yikes.
And of course Dooce's post reminds me of what I think...what I always think whenever I hear about someone
--tragically lonely
--criminally evil
--slimy and nefarious
--callous and self-aggrandizing
--libertarian
Etc.
Most of all, what I think whenver I hear about anyone who is a total creep, jerk, idiot, etc. is: He/she used to be a baby... The tragic cases are hard enough. But it's worse when you think about the former (possibly even cute) baby existence of slimeballs...
This was my list from about my second month.
But believe me, it was an abbreviated list. The number of things that could make me cry seemed infinite. A sprinkler's futile attempt to water a parched yellow lawn in the Southwestern summer was more than enough to bring on hours of tragic meditation on the pointlessness of our existence and more than a few ounces of tears.
As usual, my crying tends to fall along fairly broad 'the human condition' lines. My friends used to ridicule me for this in college. My ability to turn my personal problems into large, sweeping, eternal issues. My complaint about the manicoti in the cafeteria would quickly broaden into a diatribe against mass production. Of course, in college I'm pretty sure I thought I was the center of the world--so it wasn't much of a stretch.
The pregnancy cries are interesting. I'm in a different mode and see the world in a way that I cannot access during my normal hours. If you asked me later what it was that drove me over the edge to great, gulping sobs I'd have a hard time remembering.
(I do remember getting lost to meet my husband at a party and walking through the city in circles--realizing I'd walked over a mile to go one extra stop on public transit. It was cold and starting to rain and I hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast. (It was about 8 p.m.) I didn't blubber. Instead at first I hiccuped the little fussy hiccups the way a baby does...Then small toddler tears and then little gasps of misery before the final flood. It was like I channeled the baby or something. My husband says he is still haunted by the patheticness of that cel phone message.)
My crying is sometimes about how freaking unfair everything is (little kids starve!) but it is often about lonely people who have no one to love them. (Or so I imagine.) There is this old man who lives in the apartment building across the street that has this incredible, freakish humungous nose. It's like a nose that went wild, a nose that refused to stop growing. You can't look at it directly but you don't have to in order to see that this is a nose that went wrong. What is it like for him to have that nose. Could he be happy? Is he all alone? Did he ever find love? I cried so hard about him that it took a few hours for the pillow to dry.
Sniff. Better stop now.
Dooce's list...
Shucks. Dooce's list makes me realize that the 2nd trimester is over for me--and the crying might start again. Yikes.
And of course Dooce's post reminds me of what I think...what I always think whenever I hear about someone
--tragically lonely
--criminally evil
--slimy and nefarious
--callous and self-aggrandizing
--libertarian
Etc.
Most of all, what I think whenver I hear about anyone who is a total creep, jerk, idiot, etc. is: He/she used to be a baby... The tragic cases are hard enough. But it's worse when you think about the former (possibly even cute) baby existence of slimeballs...
This was my list from about my second month.
But believe me, it was an abbreviated list. The number of things that could make me cry seemed infinite. A sprinkler's futile attempt to water a parched yellow lawn in the Southwestern summer was more than enough to bring on hours of tragic meditation on the pointlessness of our existence and more than a few ounces of tears.
As usual, my crying tends to fall along fairly broad 'the human condition' lines. My friends used to ridicule me for this in college. My ability to turn my personal problems into large, sweeping, eternal issues. My complaint about the manicoti in the cafeteria would quickly broaden into a diatribe against mass production. Of course, in college I'm pretty sure I thought I was the center of the world--so it wasn't much of a stretch.
The pregnancy cries are interesting. I'm in a different mode and see the world in a way that I cannot access during my normal hours. If you asked me later what it was that drove me over the edge to great, gulping sobs I'd have a hard time remembering.
(I do remember getting lost to meet my husband at a party and walking through the city in circles--realizing I'd walked over a mile to go one extra stop on public transit. It was cold and starting to rain and I hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast. (It was about 8 p.m.) I didn't blubber. Instead at first I hiccuped the little fussy hiccups the way a baby does...Then small toddler tears and then little gasps of misery before the final flood. It was like I channeled the baby or something. My husband says he is still haunted by the patheticness of that cel phone message.)
My crying is sometimes about how freaking unfair everything is (little kids starve!) but it is often about lonely people who have no one to love them. (Or so I imagine.) There is this old man who lives in the apartment building across the street that has this incredible, freakish humungous nose. It's like a nose that went wild, a nose that refused to stop growing. You can't look at it directly but you don't have to in order to see that this is a nose that went wrong. What is it like for him to have that nose. Could he be happy? Is he all alone? Did he ever find love? I cried so hard about him that it took a few hours for the pillow to dry.
Sniff. Better stop now.
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