It’s My (Pity) Party and I’ll Cry If I Want To!

voltee ♦ November 30, 2012 ♦ 15 Comments

Item: Sweater Color/Fabric: Ivory, Viscose/Wool/Nylon Designer: Michael Simon Where Purchased: Next Boutique Years Owned: Less than one

I’m a crier, y’all.
I cry when I am sad. I cry when I am happy. I cry when I am overwhelmed. I cry when I am angry. I cry when things hurt. I cry when I overdo laughter. I cry when I am moved. I cry when I am disappointed. I cry when I am proud. I cry when I don’t know what else to do. I cry when I appreciate art. I cry when I overdo alcoholic beverages. I cry at movies. Theatre if it is good. Most forms of song. Relatively happy tv shows. Seemingly innocent commercials. I cried twice yesterday. I have yet to cry today, but the night is still young.
I really don’t know what my problem is. Honestly, I’m really not a wimp or anything.I live a relatively balanced life.
I simply cry. A lot.
Perhaps it’s because I drink so much water?
It’s just a part of myself that will never change, I guess. I’ve stopped trying. I just can’t help it.
But lately the crying has been slightly out of control, and I ended up having a little pity party for myself for quite some time. It actually wasn’t really that much fun.
No one else came…
Now the pity party has ended, and here I am, with many new and exciting stories to tell!
Up first, this strangely patriotic sweater. It is a terrible picture, but those are stars on it. Like this:
This is what I wore on to my second appointment with my new superstar celebrity surgeon, Dr. Bryan Kelly. I was having a diagnostic hip injection in New York City and hoping upon hope to see a Broadway show after. What to wear to encompass both medical procedure and expensive divergence? I chose this loose, comfy sweater. That just happened to have a smattering of beaded embellishments to dress it up a touch.
Now, I have had many experiences involving hip injections. The most humorous included the phrase “Oh! You aren’t wearing any underpants…” This was after a very intimidating nurse had insisted they had to be removed.
This one was a rather run of the mill, underpants-firmly-in-place sort of procedure. Except that it hurt a little more than I expected. Still, Nate had agreed to see Once: A New Musical, and I was not about to let a little pain get in the way.
I had wanted to see Once for a few weeks, after having seen coverage of its opening on the nightly news while on the treadmill at my gym. The closed captions weren’t working, and I didn’t have headphones to hear what the theatergoers were saying. All I had to work with was a title across the bottom of the screen that read “Once: A New Musical Opens On Broadway,” and the faces of the interviewees. And I needed nothing more. Even though I couldn’t hear what anyone was saying, the face of every person being interviewed just sort of glowed. Like they had experienced something life altering. I knew that I wanted that experience!
And I got to have it. Sitting in a darkened theater, with my hip full of dubious liquid, and Jane Seymour standing behind me, I was enveloped in Once. It was like nothing else I have ever experienced in a theater. I don’t really know how to describe it, except that it felt like all of us in the theater, including the cast, were holding hands, breathing together, feeling together, being together. I just, loved it.
At one point, tears now falling effortlessly and steadily into my lap, the young man to the right of me, who I didn’t even know, touched my hand and said, “It’s just so beautiful.”
Yes.
Walking back to Grand Central Terminal, tears collected under my chin, the lights of fifth avenue blurred and watery, I felt like I would never, ever be the same.
And somehow, everything is always the same.
Nate asks me, when “Falling Slowly” comes on our iTunes, why it always makes me cry. And I say, “I don’t know.”
There are a few lines that I think are just perfect.
But more than that, there are some secrets that just can’t be told. I can’t tell you everything, after all.
Well. What of this confection of a sweater?