Fievel Mousekewitz has returned to our home uninvited, and the sight of his spindley tail makes me want to cry.
I cried shallow wells of tears on my way to work because "The Weepies" song "Simple Life" is one of the saddest, sweetest songs ever composed. Also, it is written by a band called "The Weepies."
I cried writing a tribute on Oprah.com to my co-worker who is preggers and who just bought her first wig because, oh yeah, she has stage 2 breast cancer, as well.
I cry each time I think about how I should be celebrating the fact that twenty-seven is the twenty-sexiest age to become, but all I feel is depressed about another candle on the cake.
If hormones and pregnant lady emotions were an army, they'd be trouncing my brain and leaving a trail of tears in their wake.
If I could be any appliance, I would be a rotating sprinkler, flailing my arms as I irrigated the earth with my tears.
Is it possible that I've already given birth (but didn't know it, and am still fat, and can't find my baby) and am suffering from post-partum already?