So after not crying, I went back to bed and slept for most of the day. When I woke up, I found that I no longer gave a shit about the thing that had hurt me, and pretty much felt fine. This is also unlike me, as I've always been a world-class brooder and dweller-upon. Or I should say Poppy was a world-class brooder and dweller-upon -- maybe Billy isn't. That would be refreshing.
I didn't cry while watching footage of the tragedies in Norway either, though I felt (and feel) terrible about it. This is the kind of thing that has consistently made me tear up since the post-K federal flood. I don't know. Testosterone is turning out to be very interesting.
I'm not awake enough for cogent literary commentary, but I'd like to take a minute to recommend the collection We're All In This Together by Owen King. The title novella in particular is one of the best stories I've read in recent memory. I thought the book was new, but after someone on my Twitter feed said they'd read it a few years ago, I noticed that it was published in 2005. Granted, I missed a lot of things in 2005, but I'm surprised that it took me six more years to find out about this book. I also noted that (A) the book has an extremely non-eye-catching cover and (B) King hasn't published anything in book form since. Maybe he's just not a prolific writer, nothing wrong with that, but I hope his publishers didn't drop the ball on this book. I suspect cover art is becoming less important as the bookstores shut down and the business moves more toward online/e-book sales, but it was still fairly important in 2005.