Last night Tobyjoe and I had got some snacks at a new restaurant in our neighborhood called Parish Diner. While we were there, they played the song by Ben Folds Five called “Brick”.
“This is probably one of the saddest songs ever written.” I said. “Have you ever heard it?”
“No.” He answered.
When I was 23 I beat the living hell out of that song (and cd) with my discman. And up until last night I hadn’t heard it in years. I hadn’t felt particularly depressed, like, no conscious thought came to mind and made me think, “Michele, you’re sad right now.” And the song brings back memories but not memories of any one specific incident and I don’t share the same experience the Ben Folds writes about. But the tears began to pour out of my eyes. The physical response had become completely unavoidable. I tried to stop listening.
“Cant you see. Its not me you’re dying for”
My nose started to run. I had trouble speaking and fully believed that if I did so the tears would turn into sobs. Tobyjoe looked at me from across the table confused. What was I repressing? I wondered. Was this reaction the offspring of hormones?
I am no longer feeling particularly bored. It was a week-long fit. I seemed to have entered a new section of my pregnancy called, “I Can’t Stop Crying.” And it hit me in the head on Saturday night with a Brick.
Mihow 
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