why are my eyes and nose leaking?

I'm not an overly-emotional woman by any means.  I hate chick-flicks, chick-lit, Lifetime, Oprah, Twilight, Pretty Woman, and the rest of that stuff I'm "supposed" to like.  I hate crying.  With a passion.  I will do anything I can not to cry.  I'm also not one to get severe PMS.  I'm not the type to curl up with a container of Ben & Jerry's and cry at every Hallmark commercial I see. I get cranky for about an hour or two the day before my dear Aunt Flo arrives and then it's over.

Apparently I don't have the complete control that I thought I had over whether I cry or not.  My body decided that it needed to cry and that was all there was to it. 

I had a bit of a melancholy morning yesterday.  No real reason.  Lots of little things, but nothing that I thought was really bothering me.  Then as I was walking into our bathroom to get ready to go on an outing, my eyes just filled with tears.  And I was puzzled.  Am I sad?  Am I angry?  Am I feeling sorry for myself?  No, I don't think so.  What the hell is going on? 

I closed the door to make sure that nobody walked in to see the blubbering mess that I had suddenly become.  If they saw me, I'd have to answer questions like, "What's wrong?" or "Why are you crying?" I couldn't even answer these questions for myself, so how could I answer them for anyone else?  I wouldn't be believed.  Heck, I probably wouldn't believe me in that situation either.  Why bother?  I sat on the edge of our bathtub and sobbed...quietly...for three minutes. 

And then it stopped.  As suddenly as it started, it was over.

I got up from my seat, blew my nose a few times, dried my cheeks off, and started applying my makeup.  Luckily the red puffy eyes and nose went back to normal quickly and strangely, the melancholy was gone.  I was back to my normal sunny self and nobody had a clue what had transpired in that bathroom.  (Of course, now that my husband reads this blog I'm giving myself away.) 

I guess my body just decided it had had enough of me being so stubborn and forced me to let it out...whatever it happened to be.  I'm sure it will probably happen again at some point.  As long as it doesn't happen at 2pm on a workday or in the middle of having sex, I think I'll be fine.