Lately I appear to have turned into a blubbering pile of mush. I bawled repeatedly through Up, in theory an animated children's flick but in practice a tearjerker the likes of which I have not experienced since Away From Her. As dozens of little kids shrieked and giggled and picked their nose, I fought off sobs and wiped tears off my face.
Today, I read a journalist's tribute to her husband's first wife, whose death of cancer indirectly paved the way for the life the writer now enjoyed. Heartfelt, generous, insightful and free from jealousy, it almost sent me to Up territory in terms of waterworks.
Am I really this brittle? If this keeps up, I won't be able to step on a bug without experiencing a total emotional collapse.
I hope this is not symptom of aging.
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