sunday confession

I cried harder watching Six Feet Under (episode ten, season five, if you must know) than I have, EVER, over a work of fiction. One solid hour (or is it forty-five minutes?) of tears streaming down my cheeks. Kate was the same. We were little wrecks, sitting here on the couch, clutching our tissues and glasses of wine. It started innocently enough, the kind of crying where you try to pretend you're not really crying. You're just, um, leaking a little bit. Maybe it's a little sad. Maybe you're developing allergies. But a few minutes into the episode we both gave up any pretension of stability and wept to our hearts content. Look up catharsis in a picture dictionary and you will find Kate and I on our red couch.

I'm a crier. I've been known to cry myself to sleep. I love a good tearjerker. I cried regularly through the last third of The Return of the King. I cry every time I read The Kitchen God's Wife. I cry during bad movies when they play the swoopy music designed to make you cry (and I resent it the entire time). But this, oh, this was crying. It was real life crying, pain & hysteria.

Is this healthy? And please leave any tearjerker suggestions in the comment box...