Steely_D wrote:
Nah. âOverlyâ is a judgement call. Go ahead an be emotional, but I wouldnât add the negativity to it.
For my part, in the past few years Iâve developed a severe case of John Boehner Disease. For instance, I went downstairs during a nutrition conference where there were samples during the break. I picked up a slice of fresh watermelon with a good balsamic vinegar drizzled on it, and after the first bite I started weeping uncontrollably. Yes, it was good.
Oh, make no mistake, I wear this with pride and no negativity was intended
and it may be time to pull this out of the archives:
Remember When You Still Knew Why You Were Crying?
Seems like a long time ago doesn't it? Believe it or not, your sobs once had a direct cause-and-effect relationship with occurrences in your life. Even more surprising, you used to be able to tell when the crying started and stopped. Why not use today to make a list of all those moments in your life when you can remember there being an obvious empirical impetus for your blubbering. Wherever the list stops, draw a line. That's the line between the ability to dream and the feeling that no one ever listens to anyone ever.
Just to give you a template, here's a log mailed in by a 34 year old accounts receivable administrator/former set designer, single. Look familiar?
Age five: Fell down.
Age seven: Ran headlong into the steel bumpered corner of a supermarket produce display.
Age eight: Shoved by dad.
Age nine: Fell off bike.
Age nine and a half: Fell down.
Age eleven: Terms Of Endearment starring Debra Winger, Shirley MacLaine, and Jack Nicholson.
Age twelve: Forbidden to stay out past 10:30.
Age fourteen: Confessed to authorship of secret admirer letter. They all pointed. They all laughed.
Age fourteen: Fistfight. They all pointed. They all laughed.
Age fourteen: They all pointed. They all laughed.
Age fourteen: They all pointed. They all laughed.
Age fourteen: They all pointed. They all laughed.
Age fourteen: They all pointed. They all laughed.
Age fourteen: They all pointed. They all laughed.
Age fourteen: They all pointed. They all laughed.
Age fourteen: They all pointed. They all laughed.
Age fourteen: They all pointed. They all laughed.
Age fourteen: Funeral.
Age fifteen: Whole world total bullshit.
Age sixteen: Broken up with.
Age sixteen: Confession to authorship of secret admirer letter. Love requited, but not before they all pointed, they all laughed.
Age sixteen: Broken up with.
Age sixteen: Intercourse.
Age sixteen: Confession to authorship of secret admirer letter. Love unrequited, but with discretion.
Age sixteen: Abortion.
Age seventeen: Object of undying love slept with nemesis while I was on vacation with parents. They all pointed, they all laughed.
Age nineteen: Whole world racist.
Age twenty: Drunk. Fell down.
Age twenty: Hit thumb with hammer while stoned. Laughed real hard.
Age twenty: Tripped on acid. Fell down. Devoured by moths.
Age twenty three: Funeral.
Ages twenty three through twenty five: Drunk. Loved friends.
Age twenty five: Broken up with. Began doubting relevance of self to passage of time.
Age twenty six: Saw dog with limp.
Age twenty six: Saw children playing.
Age twenty six: Saw couple unpacking moving truck.
Age twenty six: Saw Titanic starring Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet.
Age twenty six: Saw garbage. Everywhere.
Age twenty six: Saw sunrise through noose.
Age twenty seven: Just too tired.
Age twenty seven: Found photograph.
What's your list?!
