Tim and Paul came over this evening.  We played Scrabble and watched the fourth DVD of Cowboy Bebop.  The fourth episode on this DVD for some reason has an ending which, to me, is extremely saddening.  I recall the first time I saw it with Tony at JAC, with the lights turned off and the episode plastered across a large screen where physics lectures are normally displayed.  I felt the same things, the sadness, the near desire to cry, how it sort of related to my own feelings at this moment, the speculation of my future.  The phrase "I am not here anymore, but I am wishing the future me luck..." or something like that is depressing for some reason.  It reminds us of childhoods long past, dreams long forgotten, memories faded.  For some reason, my entire childhood makes me want to cry.  I can't watch home movies.  If I do, I get a bit-teary eyed.  It's embarassing to do this in front of people.  There are two rules to my ability to cry.  (A) Never cry in front of people.  (B) Never cry.  For some reason I am unable to express physical emotion other than momentary anger for some reason.  The last time I cried was nearly a year ago, during the first month of university.  There was a week in which my only conversation with the human race was with the slowly flowering friendship with Tony, my suitemate.  This conversation was limited to an hour over the span of a week.  I don't think I really felt comfortable enough with him yet to eat with him.  I secluded myself from friends I had in high school not on purpose, but simply out of determination to do well in my classes.  The Friday night of that week, I went out walking.  Everywhere I seemed to turn people were happy, enjoying the fall to themselves, and more often than not, their wonderful significant other.  I went back to my single room, took a brief shower, then just laid in my bed and cried for an hour or so.  That was the last time I wept. I have no idea why I cannot cry anymore.  It simply stopped.  I didn't cry when my ex-girlfriend told me she cheated on me and then when we broke up a day later.  I didn't really feel anything.  I thought that was odd, and funny for some reason.  Looking back on it now, it was just absurd and I didn't know how to react to the situation.  Yet, I remember as time went on, I found it frightening that I couldn't cry or even express emotion outwardly very well anymore.  I still do to this day.  Sometimes I feel like crying, such as tonight, but I simply cannot.  I used to be such a sensitive kid.  I wonder what happened to that part of me.  Whether it was being rejected by a girl I liked, doing badly in highschool, feeling lonely, or listening to highly emotional music, I had no problem crying, and I actually somewhat enjoyed it.  I always felt better afterwards, and it made me feel alive and responsive as well.  During the summer of my transition to junior year of highschool, I began listening to Radiohead's OK Computer, and everytime it played, I'd be in tears by the last song, if not earlier.  Just the way Thom Yorke was able to write a haunting album, with lyrics that displayed "Look at what my life has become!  Look what I have become!" with a quiet desparation that at the same time was a simple cry for help while pushing away anyone who came near because you didn't want them to interrupt their lives or routines.  That was enough to set me off.  Now I listen to it, and it still means the same thing, but I don't end up crying.  And I want to.  I think right now I'd give anyone just about anything if they could make me cry again.  To feel again.