Last Monday I cried for 8 hours solid — well, it was every 10 minutes with a 20 minute lunch break — and I have never cried so regularly throughout a day before. I noticed, amid the tears, that when I cry I need to pee — I’d it streaming out of every orifice and it’s lucky I work for Portsmouth Water because water is exactly what I needed to replenish my fluids.
Waking crying I couldn’t quite justify calling in sick, and besides at 08:10 a. m., when I was leaving for work, I didn’t know I was going to be crying all day. I knew I was going to be late but not crying. I was going to be late because, it turns out, crying doesn’t help with the getting ready lark; although, in hindsight, exactly why I bothered to get ready is beyond me. By the time I got to work I must’ve looked a fright — puffed eyes, blotched complexion, streaming nose; a sweaty delight.
Sat there, looking out of the window, watching a bird peck at some grass and I was welling like a puddle in a downpour; or mid-pleasant conversation my voice chokes so I’ve got to stop talking but it’s too late ’cause I’m already crying.
Why was I crying?
Don’t know, didn’t know, won’t know — maybe it was just an emotional day or I’d something in my eye.