(no subject)

Woke up this morning sometime around 4 or a bit later and began to panic (not for the first, or, I'm sure, the last time) about my financial situation. If I don't get some money in the next 3 days, I'll reach the third month straight of not paying my rent. Landlord's understanding, but even the most understanding person would be thinking of ways to get rid of me by now.

Oh joy, isn't it fun to be jobless and poor?

Anyway, I never like panicking for long, so I distracted myself by reading a bit of Tom Lutz's book Crying: The Natural & Cultural History of Tears. Haven't gotten very far, but have so far read a little about the physical pleasures of tears, the relief, the satiety of a good cry.

Hmph. All my life I've been a crier, and all my life I've never been allowed that kind of pleasure being spoken of. Like most folks who can't keep their faces dry on demand, I've been accused of being manipulative or told that big girls don't cry. (The obvious exception here being when my mother died and a friend of hers told a friend of mine that I wasn't crying enough at the funeral--"People will think she didn't love her mother." Yeah, the fact that I was half disbelieving that Mom was dead and half relieved that she was out of her pain didn't matter, I was still supposed to be able to control my tears on demand for the public's sake.) So I'm only allowed to feel guilty for my tears, or at the very best feel like a pathetic useless slob for not being able to stop them.

Y'know, I feel terribly cheated.