In my younger years, I hoped for an adulthood with better food, a clean bathroom at every intersection, and yes, to be free of crying. Ah those frightful moments that cause us to leak brain lubricant from our eyes. My first painful memory was lunging for fruit snakcs and receiving a foot in the crotch. Later tears flowed because an older bully brother threatened to mince my body, and eat my innards.
My maturity yard stick used to be measurements of sobbing. If you drop one tear, then you are an adult. If you have a 15 min episode, you might be a teen. If you are known more for your crying than for your words, you might be a baby. So naturally, by the age of 30 I hope to abolish all weeping, sniffling, and sobbing. Looking around at society, those are pipe dreams.
Sure, go into your average office building or unionized workforce and you will be hard pressed to find sorrow. People will instead find other avenues to cry. Gunnish video games are the avenues for the angry mourners, food a welcome friend, running a mobile refuge. I had hoped with advances in genetics, surgery, and drug treatments, that there might be an end to sorrow.
Guess not.
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