HappyPlatypus's Journal

Luckily for me, I gave up trying to look cool years ago.

So it didn't bother me too much when I tromped up to the movie ticket counter this morning beside a bunch of hip twentysomethings with sculpted physiques and snazzy clothes that showed off more of their washboard abs and boxer briefs than my built-for-comfort body needed to see.

Granted, when I was their age, I was in similar shape and health, and as a goth, I turned up like as not in crushed velvet tights, a dog collar and dramatic eyeliner, not to mention an unearthly pale complection so undead you could read by the light of my bottom at night.

But nowadays? Nowadays my turning-40-in-October, pear-shaped butt is proudly clad in shorts (black, of course) and a T-shirt with kitty cats on it. Not exactly goth, and certainly not fashionable, not to the ultra-hip twentysomethings who had dragged themselves from their beds a little early, in my opinion, to see a 10:30 a.m. showing of Transformers II.

Kids these days. You just can't stereotype them as lazy good-for-nothings who sleep the day away. What's this world coming to?

:)

Anyway, the twentysomethings looked disdainfully at me as they slapped their money down to buy their Transformers II tickets. Several of them tittered -- guffawed, come to think of it -- at my kitty cat T-shirt, as if their disdain would insult my masculinity. Of course, that was when I plunked my $5 down to see the new Sandra Bullock romantic comedy, The Proposal.

Whatever street cred I had left disappeared in a burst of laughter from the ultra-masculine, hyper-muscled twentysomething skateboarders.

Today was the second weekend in a row that I caught a matinee of the movie, and if you're a fan of the romantic comedy, if you miss the days of When Harry Met Sally, then I highly recommend the movie. Bring along the Kleenex.

It made me cry.

Again.

But sprawled across four seats in the top row -- our theater has armrests that push up, so you can recline across several seats like you do on your couch at home, and I do, when nobody else is in my row -- this morning as tears rolled down my cheeks at a poignant moment in the movie, I thought about why the movie hit me so hard.

"I'm scared," Sandra Bullock's character tells her romantic interest.

Water Faucet: Prepare.

"So am I," he replies and then kisses her, letting her know that won't stop this relationship from moving forward.

Water Faucet: Engage.

The tears flowed freely and openly. Cue happy ending and funny wrap up.

But it made me think, as I sat in a darkened theater watching a romantic comedy by myself while my wife slept at home by herself, buried, probably, under blankets of cats and dogs and, well, blankets, even though it's 435 degrees outside. She gets cold, my wife, and I don't. And with my MS and all making me heat sensitive, we have a lot of thermostat-related issues.

My beautiful bride is not a fan of romantic comedies. She may be the only woman in the world who hates them. Proves God has a sense of humor, because I may be the only straight guy who loves them. How'd we end up together?

And why is it so easy for me to cry in the movies, but not to open up at home, but not to share my vulnerabilities with my wife, my parents, my friends? I try to be strong for all of them, to be the caretaker and caregiver, not the needy one. I don't want to be a burden. I don't want to be seen as weak.

I'm trying to take care of everyone else, but I can barely take care of myself. it's easy to be the tough guy on the big screeen, when every answer comes at the end of a gun and you don't have to live with consequences.

But with M.S., with LIFE, it's all about the consequences. Nothing's easy. And I don't know how to let anyone in. I don't know how to be anything but strong and distant. I'm scared. Who will tell me it's going to be OK?

Who will I LET tell me it's OK?