Damned hormones!

I'm turning into an emotional wreck. A couple of days ago, I read a short biography of Johnny Cash in Marie-Claire and ended up in floods of tears, because Johnny really loved his wife June, and when she died, he lost is soul-mate and and missed her so much he ended up dying about three months later. Tears, tears and more tears. (And one very confused James.) Then I watched the film, "Walk the Line" about Johnny Cash, and cried again. Last month, I ended up in floods of tears because James told me that when he worked in the supermarket in Sydney, an old man came in and asked if the raw chicken was cooked, because his wife had just died and he had no idea how to cook for himself. Boo bloody hoo - I cried for ages. This is getting ridiculous.

The only comfort I have is that I'm not as bad as a certain other person, who cries when she sees (a) green colanders and (b) crocheted flowers. So I guess there's hope for me yet!