2002-10-12 - 12:45 p.m.
THE WATERWORKS FACTORY
When I was young, I was a crier. As I got older, I cried less and less. As was true in my youth, most of my crying still occurs when I am angry but even that type of crying has subsided over the years. Right now, however, the folks at the waterworks factory are working overtime. I cry over everything and nothing. I know that some of it, if not most of it, is one of the side effects of the pain medication. But still it�s strange.
Luckily, I am married to a very sweet man who is not undone by crying women. He seems more able than many men to put this new me, the one who has tears well up when the slightest bit bothered, into perspective. He was the one who pointed out to me that within twenty minutes to a half an hour after taking the medication, I dissolve into a puddle. To his amazement, I didn�t cry when he pointed this pattern out. I just suggested he put on a life preserver the next time he gave me a pill. He told me not to worry about it because he can swim.
All the tears embarrass me. My honesty apparently does not extend to the idea that one ought to wear one�s heart on one�s sleeve. At least it does not extend to the concept that every minor sadness, frustration, guilt, or irritation ought to be painted in water on my face for all to see. I�ve never thought of myself as a particularly private person but I would like a bit of emotional privacy back.
Besides, it takes away from conversation when I have to keep explaining that the tears are not an accurate reflection of what is going on. Although full brain functioning is returning (and would probably be completely back but for medication), the explanation affects my focus. By the time I explain, I cannot remember what I was saying. I�m lost. I�m floating away on my own tears and can�t quite find the edge of the pool. I feel like Alice in a wonderland that was anything but.
But, for now, the waterworks are on. Water falls regularly, particularly after I�ve taken medication. Looking at me can be enough to start things. So, if you come over, bring a raft. You may need it.
LAST YEAR: The Real Danger of Imaginary Zebras
LAST FIVE ENTRIES:
Receiving
Welcome to Waterloo (by Kat)
Dancing Queen
Being Adult
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Copyright 2006 by Ellen |
