Since when is crying...theraputic?

I think it's stupid not to cry (quietly, reasonably, in private, I mean). I mean, I was learning in science class that it's good for you. Of course after a good cry you're a miserable, snivelling hulk, but you feel strangely better.

But this is awfully strange. Last night I was feeling perfectly happy here, listening to Christmas music, and feeling like I could spend this Christmas perfectly happy here. I mean, part of what gets me through is knowing that it's temporary. I think maybe I could live longer than two years here or some other place, but I'd need to set it to two years, just think, it's only two years...hey, I could go for another one, but Christmas would always be hard. I'm wearing myself out coming up with new traditions and modifications of old ones, but that's what I like to do...why shouldn't I??? I'll get to rest come Christmas Day, and then I can see my success. Just like last year. It's the best way for me to spend Christmas.

Of course, now I know things. Don't play music of especial sentimental value until nightfall (when it actually looks like winter), don't get too hung up on stuff like that until then, and, finally, don't expect too much. I don't. I expect that once Grandma and Auntie get here and it draws closer to Christmas, things'll get very Christmas-y like they did last year. And, this time, I know I'll be happy even as they leave because I'm going to throw myself into everyday life that will be so restful.

Don't misunderstand. I'm really happy here even now and I also know what really matters in Christmas. But if there were no traditions, I would seriously celebrate Christmas sometime else...like in summer when it rains or something. Even in America, if everything traditional went out the window, well, Christmas in spring or something.

But why was I crying last night? I was happy. Everything was peaceful. My "depression" only sinks in when I try too hard at the wrong time of day or at night if I can't force myself to think of other things. In a little bit, the music shall become second nature again. After pretending to dance with the people in the song from Ghana (or Tanzania, I wish I had the liner notes with me!!!) or watching the snow, birds, and bells in that little interlude on the Fred Waring, I'll have to think of other things. But at night, awake, and not trying to sleep, or think, only to live and reading or something...I reread the Westing Game and it made me cry. And I was listening to Celtic music so beautiful you could burst. Heightened emotions here, I think.

But I love it when I have heightened emotions and I don't feel the need to express them, or I do in excessive writing, and no one stops me. It's a beautiful feeling.

Still, the Westing Game making anybody cry? I understand Return of the Jedi, but...the Westing Game...?