, , ,

My Smith & Wesson, M&P 9 Millimeter

What the heck is going on with me?  <<WARNING: If you tell me its my hormones, you might get shot.  Especially if you are male.  I do own a gun.  NO problem using it.  OK, I haven’t shot a live thing…ever..and hope not to..but don’t test me.>>

I am tearing up at everything. Sometimes the tear actually makes its way out of my eye onto my cheek where I furiously wipe it away. I mean, come on.

Please, please tell me I am not the only one that cry’s during the Olympics.  At the end of each race, or game? To see the victor, in all their glory, after so much hard work…it just…cracks something inside me.  Joy in its purest form.

I read blogs and I get blubbery. I read one the other day about a dog that passed away and I got teary eyed.  A dog.  Listen folks, I love my Jack, but I gotta be honest here, I am not an animal person.  Really I am not.  All you animal lovers are going to delete me now, and that is alright I guess.  Why am I not an animal lover?  Cause I can barely take care of myself or my kids…I can-in no way– remember to feed or clean up after another living thing. Thank goodness my ‘big’ kids are old enough to take care of Jack..or who knows where the poor creature would be.  So…on that note, I still cried at the loss of this pet…the loss I felt for the family.  Not the dog. << OK, listen folks…I do not go to the circus because I can’t stand the fact that those animals can’t choose for themselves to dance around like idiots.  And the rodeo?  Forget it! I feel both are weird forms of animal abuse..so please don’t go sending your animal rights hounds after me just yet..I do have a heart for them…just not in my home, thank you>>.

Our beloved Jack. If only he could feed himself and pick up his own crap.

I see the terrible, ugliness of the “Chick Fil A battle”, and I cry.  At the horrible things that both ‘sides’ say, do and feel.  The ugliness that can sometimes occur via social media also makes me cry.

I see a sad story on the news, and I cry.

I see a silly love show, and I cry.  Or even a dang commercial.

I realize that I still have at least four hours to wait before it is a decent hour to have a glass of wine, and I cry.

So, I guess…I will go grab a box of tissues, and my wine, and choose to focus on the good cry’s.  The Olympics.  My children’s accomplishments.  On the caring and overwhelming love that is out there.

And I will put the ugly rest in a dark hole somewhere.  Not to be pondered or given any of my energy.

And try to figure out what the heck is going on with me.  I think my eyes are leaking.  It is NOT my hormones.  Or age.  It’s not.  My eyes must be broken.

Gotta get em fixed soon.