i was thinking about crying, and how weird people are about it. and this is what i got from myself.
i didn't cry at my last night of band camp or senior fallout. i didn't cry at my last tree performance. i didn't cry at any senior lasts yet.
i didn't cry when my parents got divorced, or when we moved out of our old house. or any of our moves, i think.
i did, however, cry at one point this summer watching c-span and hearing about a woman who got "innocent by reason of insanity" after killing her three children. cried hard. i was devastated. and each time they flashed pictures of those kids, especially the baby, it just got worse.
i cried a little singing "go tell it on the mountain" during class one day for choir.
i've been close to tears many a time for no good reason, really, other than the fact that a song or a piece of artwork or something has hit me. and why? why not for my own life and for my lasts and for the firsts i didn't want to happen or those unexpected plot twists?
and i think it's because life is art, and art is life. we are alive to create and breathe and make art. aren't we? isn't that what it all comes down to? and that's what gets me.