Nerdy secretary having bad day on work, crying over her crumpled paper work

I Cry

I cry (a lot) (and in public, too).

“Nu, what’s wrong with you?” people ask. Honestly, I don’t even know where to begin. I’m not sad. Not now, at least. In fact, most of the time I’m pretty happy. So, there’s no reason to worry. I promise. I am fine. Really.  Enough already. It’s just this one thing. That’s all.

I cry (a lot) (and in public, too).

“Nu, what’s wrong with you?” people still ask. Anything can set me off. Actually, nothing at all can set me off. The most ridiculous thing. The smallest interaction. Something most people wouldn’t even notice or remember. Cue the tears. A memory from long ago, yanked into my present from the deepest part of my brain. Don’t you remember? Thirty-five years ago? You probably forgot, right? The fourth grade cafeteria. But I remember. Like it was the proverbial yesterday. I’m sitting at a traffic light now, decades later, and I cry at that memory from so long ago. I can’t even wait until I get home to cry. It’s all I can do to reach into my pocketbook for a tissue. I carry a tissue box everywhere.

I cry (a lot) (and in public, too).

“Nu, what’s wrong with you?” people ask. The list of places where I’ve cried is a list of places I go to on a regular basis. You’ve probably seen me at the supermarket. That was me, crying. I’ve cried at the shopping mall, at the gym, in carpool lane, on the subway, at the movies, at Home Depot, and dozens of other places. I even cried at Starbuck’s. Unfortunately, now I have to get my skim latte at a different Starbucks. Thank gd there are several nearby. I’ve cried in Israel all the way from Metulla down to Eilat.

I cry (a lot) (and in public, too).

“Nu, what’s wrong with you?” people ask. A sad song in the supermarket? I’m a goner. Why didn’t Bruno Mars just buy her flowers? “How simple would that have been,” I mumble. My daughter shakes her head and smiles while I wipe away a few tears. Sara McLachlan songs? Especially the one in that commercial? You know, with the sad dogs. Rivers of tears. Rivers. Sad movies? Sappy greeting cards.? Yep, and yep. You get the idea.

I cry (a lot) (and in public, too).

“Nu, what’s wrong with you?” people ask. Nothing, thank you very much. I’ve always been this way. I don’t know any other way to be. I don’t even know that its wrong, crying like I do. I mean, it must be wrong. People see a woman crying, and they think all sorts of things. Something must be really wrong. Something horrible must have happened. Someone must have done something to me. Nope. Nope. And nope again. I’m just sad. And only for the moment. After I cry, I feel better.

I cry (a lot) (and in public, too).

“Nu, what’s wrong with you?” people ask, heads shaking. I sometimes wish I could stop. I really do. But how? And so what if I do stop? Would that be better? Better for whom? Would I somehow be a better person? Of course not. Would I be stronger? No, I would just be perceived as stronger. And anyway, people who don’t cry are just a mystery to me. How do they do it?

And where would my tears go if I didn’t cry?