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Wednesday, December 02, 2015


I first took notice of it a week ago when the sight of two malformed, damaged pumpkins at the local grocer made me want to start bawling. Possessing no uterus or ovaries, I am unable to blame this sudden urge to just burst out crying on the onset of PMS.

Since then I've found myself:

  • silently sobbing while staring at sad images on Pinterest
  • scurrying off to the bathroom at work to weep when harsh words just got too much
  • tearing up when I discovered a loving note written for me by The One on a serviette in my lunchbox and upon finding a treat he'd hidden in my nightclothes
  • sniveling for Muriel's poor mother at the wedding while watching Muriel's Wedding
  • turning on the waterworks during the season finale of Season 5 of The Game of Thrones 

The only explanation I have is the imminent commemoration of my father's death. The sadness of it permeates my emotions the way festive season cheer invade other people's lives at this time of the year.

I find it unreal that in a mere 7 years I will be older than my father was when he left us. The closer in years I come to his final age, the more I resemble him physically; on top of that I increasingly understand the despair he faced and the choices he made.

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