Crying

Just last night, I felt the urge to cry. I didn't end up going through with it, but it got me thinking.

I can't remember the last time I actually cried. Oh, sure, there have been numerous times that I've choked up, eyes stinging -- a slight allergic reaction to despair.

But the full-on tears, the sobbing, the inability to control the shaking of your body...that's been a very long time indeed. Maybe since my age was measure in single digits, and that is now officially a Very Very Long Time Ago.

When I think of crying, I think of the time that I was spending a week or so with an aunt and family in Syracuse (i.e., The Big City to me when I was young and rural). I woke up in the middle of the night, sobbing loudly...almost shrieking. Why? Was I scared of the dark, was I homesick? I didn't know then, and anything I could come up with at this point would be mostly rationalization and colorized hindsight.

But that was the last specific time I remember really crying (I'm not ruling out one or two others -- I can almost remember a few angry, lonely post-parental-argument tears in my bedroom in my adolescent or pre-adolescent years. But nothing specific...).

Several loved ones have died since then and I stayed dry. I may have learned to hold it in, learned the tricks so well that I'm now incapable of actual crying. Perhaps that slight allergic reaction is going to be my fullest expression of sadness from now on.

Is that a good thing or a bad thing? I'm where I should be, right? Boys don't cry. Adults don't cry. Mature, strong-willed people should be able to keep their emotions in check, or at least concealed from the world.

Of course, there's that school of thought that tells you that one should express emotions...or else you run the risk of deeper mental problems. In that theory, you should cry- perhaps not much, and not often, but holding back too much can be more dangerous than the occasional loss of face.

Either way, I'm probably screwed. I'm not really mature or disciplined, and I'm host to any number of mental problems. I don't have either the classic masculine strength or the healthy modern ability for expression.

So last night, right before bed, Tom Waits' "Martha" came on and I almost cried. I almost cried the whole time I was making end-of-the-night small talk with my wife, I almost cried saying good night to my pets, and I almost cried the entire time I waited for sleep to come.

Maybe I'll be almost crying for the rest of my life. I'd rather just do it and get it over with, but it doesn't seem like that will happen. That's really a shame- I can just about remember the tired peace that follows a good hard crying fit. That would really hit the spot right about now.

"And those were the days of roses,
poetry and prose and Martha
all I had was you and all you had was me.
There was no tomorrows,
we'd packed away our sorrows
And we saved them for a rainy day."