Don't cry for me, Argentina

I feel as though my desire to blog always occurs at the most inconvenient of times, such as now. My bedtime was over two hours ago, and yet here I am, awake, and blogging.

And I can guarantee I will regret it tomorrow.

I hate leaving pseudo-emotional posts as the initial post on my blog. Sometimes I'll write in the peak of emotion, post, leave, get over it, and forget about it. Then, I'll come back days later, read what I had written, and think to myself, "What was I thinking!??" I'll be honest, it's not the greatest feeling to have after reading something you posted days ago on the world wide web.

I'm a really happy person, but I think it's harder to write about happiness than it is to write about sadness. Perhaps this is merely a by product of my chronic happiness. Because I am happy most of the time, when I am sad, it is more-- for lack of a better term-- poignant. It seems more real, because it is something that I don't experience on a regular basis.

The day I wrote my last post was a strange one. I drove home that day with a somewhat melancholy feeling engulfing me. As I was driving, I thought, "I haven't had a good cry in a while. I think it's about time I had one."

So I did. I let myself be sad. I let myself hurt. Because sometimes it's good to remember what it feels like to hurt. It keeps the happiness real, instead of forcing it into a norm.

I like to cry. I like tight feeling your eyes get after tearing for an extended amount of time. I like the dull ache that frames your head and the blood that rushes to your face from the effort. I like breathing deeply after letting the emotion escape my body through salted droplets.

Perhaps that's weird, but I like to know that I am real. I like to feel my existence through pain, sadness, happiness, contentedness, and countless other emotions. When the day to day monotony of life seems never-ending, at the end of the day, it's nice to know you're still real.

I think emotion is a huge blessing. If it weren't for emotion, we would never fall in love. We wouldn't have passion, a desire for expression, or art. Beauty would be non-existent, because there would be no reaction to it. It would be a pointless fluctuation in an everyday existence without the sentiment that it would invoke in a world of emotion.

I've heard it said that each person wants to feel the full range of human emotions.
The depths of despair allow a person to experience the peaks of pure bliss.

One without the other cannot be accomplished.

Again, I'll say-- I like to cry. I do not say this in a sick, masochistic way, but rather, in the sense that I appreciate each of my emotions as I feel them, because of what they represent.

Which is why I won't delete the previous blog, or any of my other emotionally driven pieces of writing. So be it.