The Gift of Tears
At the San Jose airport, thanks to another $6.95 to connect to the Internet and a long cry back in the hotel room with my amazing roommate, I seem to be sane again. Script of the storm after I finished writing my last post: sign-off, think, "Oh, I seem to be feeling a little better even though the end of that post was somewhat depressing, maybe it helps just not to pretend that I'm going to be able to fix things by thinking about them," get in shower and start crying again. Come out of shower and start flinging clothes around the hotel room in a semblance of trying to pack, collapse into tears and self-recriminations for the next, oh, 45 minutes; no, make than an hour. Amazing roommate waits it out (bless her, she did not sign up for this when she agreed to share a room with me; should I have warned her?), and then, when I try to apologize for crying, says, "This is part of it. You need to grieve." And perhaps she was right. I've spent my whole life be...