Crying, Waiting, Hoping

It's good to be a bit of a gypsy. Living a relatively normal life with just a touch of counter-culture allows one to bask in the illusion of artistic mystique, and when I'm moody, people think I'm brooding or channeling some emo tendencies, rather than just having some unfortunate hormonal fluctuation. Or at least, that's what I tell myself. Chances are, people may just figure I'm unhinged.
I have been a little extra emotional over the last few days, and there's not really a good explanation for it beyond it being the white-pill week for the b.c. (the placebo week). Normal my best friend B.C. keeps my body happy-- especially my skin. But occasionally, my body decides to revolt, I guess. My normally smooth, pretty skin has a few lurking lurkers. In the past several months, I'd forgotten just how annoying pimples can be. At least they've had the decency to crop up in less-noticeable places and on a day when I'm not obligated to see anyone.
But worse than the late skin woes has been the weird crying. I don't really understand it at all, and mostly, I just laugh at myself for being such a nerd. Allow me to explain further:
It all kinda started a little more than a week ago, on a Sunday. For whatever reason, I was seriously bummed. I needed some human interaction-- or so I thought. I probably needed a nap, but I was sad because I missed my friends. Yes, I'd just seen them a few hours before at church, but I wanted to be around PEOPLE. I crashed Pam and Kirsten's "Valkyrie" viewing party, brought some frozen Trader Joe's pizzas, and invited several boys with every intention of starting up some spin-the-bottle action. In discussing my frustration with Lou earlier that day, I think I said something like, "I think we'd all do much better if we got some lip action." The plan was a bust, mostly because all the boys who came were nice ones I'd never dream of kissing (or kissing again), and I was pleased to see I felt better for logging time with my friends.
So nothing too weird there, but as the week progressed, I'd find myself getting inexplicably weepy. I generally don't cry when I'm happy or feeling the Spirit or any of the nice reasons for crying. Instead, I cry at really inopportune times, including but not limited to:
* When I'm nervous-- like when I was trying to be cool about inviting Ru-Ru to the baseball game. Why? Who knows! I should be allowed to ask my friend to hang out with me, but I started rambling, and then I nearly choked up. Bless him for going and not acting like I'm a nut-job.
* When I'm feeling guilty about something, even when I know it's not a huge deal-- Case in point: Dad yelling at me for being five minutes late on Friday. I'm nearly always on time and/or early for work, but hearing him say, "You're always late" just made me burst into tears. I knew it wasn't true, but I felt like I'd just run over someone's dog. I certainly didn't mind taking responsibility for being late that morning, but hearing what a disappointment I was (even though that wasn't even what he was saying) turned me into Old Faithful.
* When I don't get my way-- I know, I know. I'm not two-years old. But the other night, I wanted something. What it was really doesn't matter. I didn't get it. And so I quietly cried for a couple minutes on my way home. And then I felt better, and I woke up the next morning without a care in the world.
* When I'm afraid I've disappointed someone-- This is the big one lately, and it manifests itself all the time. I cried last night when I lost my car keys. It wasn't because I really thought I'd have to live under the dumpster at the Institute. It was because I knew if I had to call my family for help, they'd think I was irresponsible, and that a 28-year-old should know better. I cried harder after Pam prayed for me and Kirsten found said keys out on the lawn, because I felt like a big baby. I cried on Sunday afternoon because I'd blurted out something that I thought could have sounded critical about one of my friends. I called him to apologize. Of course, he didn't care and hadn't taken it personally. But when he said, "Thanks for apologizing," I was suddenly Llorona. I'm sure he's afraid of me now.
Of course, this is not all. These days, I also find myself laughing so hard I cry. Like when the boys in my life go all "Night at the Roxbury" on me at the dances, or when I think about Louise yelling "Butt-munch" rather frequently. I cry when my friends are sad, and even when people I don't know are sad. I cried about Michael Jackson. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if I went out to check the mail and shed a tear or two.
But the best part of it all: I'm really not sad. In many ways, I'm happier than ever. I have some really beautiful things on the horizon and wonderful people to share my life with. My life is grand. It just seems nearly all my anxious emotions are manifest through crying a bit. Like Trevor's salivary glands, my tear-ducts are just a bit overactive.