What I'm saying is, we're back to square one of my having an absurd amount of feelings and no idea what to do with them. Seriously, how do people deal with emotions in a healthy way? This is a legitimate question. I've taken up running, which is effective, but I can't spend every waking moment pretending to be chased by zombies. I mean, I could, but I feel like at some point the asthma would kick in and most of my inhalers got stolen out of my suitcase on the way over here, so that ultimately would not end well. So again I wonder, am I falsely assuming the general population functions without harmful vices, or is everyone else just that much better at life than me?
Anyways, when I'm not berating myself for not knowing how to be filled with emotions without attempting to drown them in nyquil, I'm usually crying.
I cry all the freakin' time now. It's ridiculous.
I cry at homeless kids and ruined clothes and any time Jeff Buckley comes on my work playlist.
I am Bedazzled's Ellitot vs. that darn sunset.
Coincidentally I also sing the dolphin song on a fairly regular basis.
The other day I was explaining the end of Brigadoon at the dinner table when the very thought of Gene Kelley losing his soul mate to the Scottish mist made me tear up. And I don't even believe in soul mates, guys. So that made me cry, then someone noticed I was crying and said "Oh crap, did someone bring up the titanic again?" (The Titanic has a history of bumming me out. Don't ask.) Which made me think of the Titanic, so then I started crying harder, which led to the following bit of dialogue:
Dad: Wait, are you crying because you're sad about the Titanic sinking, or about the movie Titanic?
Me: *sob* Well, both, now...THEY WERE SOUL MATES *sob sob sob*
Me: *sob sob* AND IF ROSE WOULD HAVE JUST SCOOTED OVER THEY COULD HAVE BEEN *sob* TOGETHER *sob* FOREVER *sob*
Dad: Lis, if Leo had gotten on the door with her, their combined weight would have caused it to sink.
Me: *sob* no *sob* it *sob* wouldn't have *sob sob* they proved *sob* it *sob* on *sob* MYTHBUSTERS!!!
So that happened.
To be clear, I'm not knocking on crying, wear your tears like salty badges of emotion or whatever, I'm just saying it's really weird for me. Usually I only cry when I'm thinking about dumping someone or watching a particularly good movie trailer. Not a movie, mind you, but a movie trailer- the pinnacle of all that is good in the editing world. So for your viewing pleasure, I'm linking some trailers that have made me well up even when self-medicated to my preferred state of almost dead inside.
Elizabeth: The Golden Age
Confession: I was not actually terribly impressed with this movie. Damn good trailer, though.
I cried when: "I TOO CAN COMMAND THE WIND, SIR! I HAVE A HURRICANE IN ME!!!" I know you do, Cate Blanchett, I know you do.
The Great Gatsby
I love Baz Luhrman, I love the Fitzgeralds, and as was implied earlier, I love me some Leo. Throw in that soundtrack and I am sold. (I mean, Jack White covering Love is Blindness? j'adore, j'adore, j'adore.)
I cried when: It varies. Some days it's as soon as Gatsby steps in from the rain, but I'm always crying by the time Daisy wishes she'd done everything on earth with you. Too beautiful! Too doomed! Too much!
It's like six different cliches, but I just can't help myself. I love Ellen Page, I love Drew Barrymore, I love Roller Derby, I love Weezer, I love COMING OF AGE in awkward places, I could go on and on and on. Basically, great book, great movie. I now own and watch this one frequently, despite its setting unrealistic expectations for making out underwater. Additionally I would still like a
T-shirt that reads "Final Slut Pro," but will probably never get one because I broke up with the dude who promised to have one made before it ever materialized. AND LET THAT BE A LESSON TO US ALL.
I cried when: The victorious throwing of arms in the air at the same moment the dad wants his daughter to be happy and weezer doesn't give a hoot about what you think. Followed, of course, by the pretty swimming pool sexytimes shots.
I know I'm hardly alone in saying this, but Les Mis is primarily responsible for getting me through the super awkward years. I would say Les Mis taught me how to feel, but obviously I still don't know how to do that, so that's clearly a lie. Suffice it to say that in the eighth grade, newly chemically imbalanced Lissa used to walk alone at night in suburban DC listening to "On My Own" on her walkman, because 13 year old Lissa was a) brimming with musical angst, b) very, very stupid. For years I've loved the book, loved the musical, and the day it was announced I knew I'd love the movie- and I did.
(But I wouldn't be too sad if Cosette was the one who died, because ugh, Cosette, guys.)
I cried when: Honestly, it was straight up ugly cry time from the opening notes onward.
Too many feels, guys, just too many feels.