Waterworks
Cancer makes me cry. A lot. Mostly happy crying, like when I'm explaining to somebody how cool my mom is. Or how grateful I feel sitting in my Tuesday night AA group, surrounded by unpretentious, calm people who love the shit out of me and watch me like a hawk to see what I need. Whatever brakes I had on crying before I got cancer, they're gone.
Which, obviously, brings me to Obama. I lost it halfway through his speech in Denver, at the convention in August. I was watching NBC on November 4, and started crying and laughing at 5 pm (Pacific time) when Ohio and the eastern seaboard made this thing instantly, suddenly, so damned real, and not another one of our stupid weak pipe dreams since 2000, fraught with dread, that results in yet another reason to curl into a fetal ball and just work on breathing and trying not to be angry. On November 4, I knew that 100,000 people had come out in St. Louis, I knew there was a massive gathering at Grant Park, I knew that just listening to him talk made me feel a couple inches taller and that I couldn't be the only one, but until Ohio went for Obama, my cynicism was way too strong for me to believe it could happen. Now pictures of Michelle and the girls make me cry. Pictures of Obama take my breath away.
It's some kind of cosmic coincidence that Obama's story is playing out while I have cancer and am open and paying attention and really, badly needing cause to feel joy and hope and peace.
So today, I'm thinking, sure, let's watch Bruce Springsteen at the Lincoln Memorial. I lost it immediately. I then naturally lost it for Stevie Wonder singing Higher Ground, which involved dancing in the pink flannel jammies I was still in after 1 pm, because Obama was dancing and smiling. I lost it for Bono, and I even lost it for Beyonce (holy cow that girl).
And tomorrow, I'll be watching the I Have a Dream speech, over and over, and I expect to be rendered unconscious by maybe 10 am. On Tuesday I should probably just call 911 when Obama raises his hand. You'll have to tell me how his speech goes; I'm likely to be in the ICU, debilitated by joy.
My face hurts from smiling, and that just makes me smile more.
Which, obviously, brings me to Obama. I lost it halfway through his speech in Denver, at the convention in August. I was watching NBC on November 4, and started crying and laughing at 5 pm (Pacific time) when Ohio and the eastern seaboard made this thing instantly, suddenly, so damned real, and not another one of our stupid weak pipe dreams since 2000, fraught with dread, that results in yet another reason to curl into a fetal ball and just work on breathing and trying not to be angry. On November 4, I knew that 100,000 people had come out in St. Louis, I knew there was a massive gathering at Grant Park, I knew that just listening to him talk made me feel a couple inches taller and that I couldn't be the only one, but until Ohio went for Obama, my cynicism was way too strong for me to believe it could happen. Now pictures of Michelle and the girls make me cry. Pictures of Obama take my breath away.
It's some kind of cosmic coincidence that Obama's story is playing out while I have cancer and am open and paying attention and really, badly needing cause to feel joy and hope and peace.
So today, I'm thinking, sure, let's watch Bruce Springsteen at the Lincoln Memorial. I lost it immediately. I then naturally lost it for Stevie Wonder singing Higher Ground, which involved dancing in the pink flannel jammies I was still in after 1 pm, because Obama was dancing and smiling. I lost it for Bono, and I even lost it for Beyonce (holy cow that girl).
And tomorrow, I'll be watching the I Have a Dream speech, over and over, and I expect to be rendered unconscious by maybe 10 am. On Tuesday I should probably just call 911 when Obama raises his hand. You'll have to tell me how his speech goes; I'm likely to be in the ICU, debilitated by joy.
My face hurts from smiling, and that just makes me smile more.
posted by Cy at 7:15 PM
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