Going into high school I decided I was going to stop crying in public. Six out of thirteen of my middle school teachers had seen my cry, which is under 50% but some of them saw my cry more than once. Anyway, it was still six too many. I didn't want my high school reputation to be that I cried a lot, and for the first semester of high school I didn't cry at school once. Second semester I did, but it was one of those days where every little thing just goes wrong and even though each individual thing only sucks a little bit, all of the little things together just creates this colossal pile of suck you have to deal with. And then you cry.
Since then I've cried on campus a few more times. I haven't counted or anything absurd like that. However, since then I've also developed this strange feeling of guilt whenever I cry. I don't know if high school has given me some profound sense that my problems don't matter, but whenever I'm crying and my problems aren't quite big enough to take over my brain, I always think that I don't deserve to cry. I have, overall, a pretty good life. I have it harder than some and I've had to grow up faster than most kids my age (I can't believe I just said that) but compared to the vast majority of individuals I have a very, very easy life.
So then I'm struck by this crippling guilt that I'm crying about a bad grade or a bad audition or a fight with a friend or my mom yelling at me when there are people that are sick or hungry or homeless or friendless or even worse unimaginable things and they might not even be crying.
And then I sit in my bed and listen to "I Don't Want to Live on the Moon" from Sesame Street over and over again.
Happy birthday to Clark Gable, Langston Hughes, Jerry Spinelli, Meg Cabot, and Heather Morris.
I misplaced my poetry anthology and I really want to find it. Like Hazel Grace Lancaster, I prefer reading poetry to writing it.