Hi there, come on in.  The sofa is yours, unless you still prefer the ugly blue chair.  May I get you something?  Smells great in here, doesn't it?  Popcorn!  I've been planning to watch a particular movie for days and still haven't.  So I thought a glass of wine and some popcorn would be just the right motivation.  Good question.  Pick your seat and I'll be right back ... do you like lots of butter and salt or are you more of a purist kinda person?

Good question, indeed.  Why put off watching a movie that you know you'll love.  You know because you've loved it many times before.  And every single time it makes you cry.  Not the pretty little single tear that slides down your cheek like an errant raindrop.  Not the tears that well up suddenly and seem almost suicidal as they drop without even touching your face.  Not the sexy, seductive ones that your lover then kisses away.  I'm talking about full-blown, nose running, crumpled face ugly crying that leaves your eye area swollen and red (what the hell happened to you?) for at least 24 hours kind of crying.  

So, you have to prepare yourself.  There's a whole mental and emotional process one must go through to experience a cry of that magnitude.  For me?  Rule number one:  I will not be seen by another human being the day after.  The only exception being someone I love crying with me and looking even worse than I do.  Much, much worse.  That's important.  Rule number two:  Completely and totally let go.  Let every tear I've swallowed since the last time I wallowed escape.  After a bit, it's not about the movie anymore.  It's about the release.  Rule number three:  A roll of soft, high quality toilet paper.  Kleenex is too expensive and frankly too fussy for a grand old bawl.  Spinning off a good foot of TP and then covering most of my face as I blow out the sadness through my nose is priceless. 

And then the movie is over.  Drained, completely unable to do anything more than barely breathe.  A few more runaway tears fall, like the last of the demons fleeing the soul.  You are utterly spent.  Yet somehow, magically restored.  The convulsions have stopped and the healing has begun.  You may be a mess - with a floor full of toilet paper - but you are brand new ... just for a precious moment.  The silent sorrows will begin anew, but you won't recognize them for what they are.  They'll be tucked away in the cobwebs, gulped down along with a hastily eaten sandwich.  They'll lie in wait, and they will multiply.

Until the next time you decide to watch a movie that you know will make you cry.