Last night I threw a temper tantrum, alone, in my bed. People (well I guess mainly “children”) throw temper tantrums for one reason only: to get attention. When you’re alone these prolonged and painful moments of tears and kicks and dry mouth aren’t so satisfying. No one’s there to tell you that it’s okay or perhaps, more fruitfully, to tell you that it’s not okay and the best way to start getting over it is to stop crying. What am I getting over? What was I even crying about? I’m not sure. I’m full of a lot of stuff and I don’t know where it’s from and I’m afraid to see where it’s going.
I woke up this morning feeling hungover. One could blame the Irish car bomb, vodka pulls or jello shooter but I choose to blame the tears. I’m not sad that they happened, just that they can only happen every once in a while, alone, in my bed. If I cried instead of shouted I think I’d hurt fewer people. I think I’d feel heavier, with the weight of impending saltwater pressing against my eyes, nose and mouth. But isn’t it better to feel heavier with someone watching you? I guess I’m afraid that once I start crying I’ll never stop–and who’d want to stick around for that?