I’m a rather emotional person. I always have been. My parents often described me as “sensitive” growing up, and still do. My friends have come to know my signature dramatic slurry of emotions and vocabulary. I don’t think it’s a bad thing, but people have told me that it is.

I’ve cried at work more times than I can count. I cried at school a lot, too. I distinctly remember being a Kindergartner, crying, and my teacher got mad at me for it. My emotions tend to have a mind of their own and timing that is less than perfect. I’ll cry when I miss my friends or when I finally get to see them after months of being apart. Heck, I’m getting a little teary-eyed just writing this column.

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