Tears such as men use

Then something began to hurt Mowgli inside him, as he had never been hurt in his life before, and he caught his breath and sobbed, and the tears ran down his face.

"What is it? What is it?" he said. "I do not wish to leave the jungle, and I do not know what this is. Am I dying, Bagheera?"

"No, Little Brother. That is only tears such as men use," said Bagheera. "Now I know thou art a man, and a man's cub no longer. The jungle is shut indeed to thee henceforward. Let them fall, Mowgli. They are only tears."

-Rudyard Kipling, The Jungle Book (click for plain text ebook on Gutenberg)

I've been feeling miserable all day, more enervated than normal for a Monday's work, because it's finally hit me that I'm leaving Madison in less than seven days. And it's terrible, because for all my shyness and eccentricity, I've been a happy person this year, and sorrow feels so strange. It feels like an extrinsic thing, like a disease, as if like Mowgli I think I might die.

I'm going to miss EK so much. We go together so well. According to common sense we ought to drive one another crazy, but somehow it's been a good nine months. I think the reason we've never had a big fight is because we just argue and whack each other all the time.

"Waking up to a cute face is great, but I wasn't expecting this one." (yes, that's my Barbapapa-shaped MOGU cushion.)

The human brain isn't made for this - not to bond with someone, not to lie together in one another's warmth, and then suddenly to be cut off with hormones still running high in the blood. He has the sweetest face when he's asleep, and I will miss that (EK's face, not Barbapapa's - the squashy cushion is coming with me). When you know you'll never see another person again, it feels like a death approaching.

Leaving work also is poorly timed because things are just getting interesting - we captured 22 ground squirrels a week and a half ago - have yet to blog the Great Squirrel Hunt, now that I've got pictures from Nicola - and Sam finally got her [pathogen name deleted for national security purposes] + lux transformants a couple of weeks ago and they put it in mice today...sigh, I'm going to miss the glow-in-the-dark mice. I'm missing all the fun stuff.

I borrowed Henry V on CD from the library (a highly recommended way to experience Shakespeare, much better than just reading the text) and was listening to that at work since I thought the rousing martial speeches might be cheerful...then it got to the St. Crispin's day speech and I nearly cried because I thought of all the people who were going to die. Crying is a bad idea when one has sixty live mice to unpack and put away, so I didn't. At least it wasn't in a "dirty" (i.e. biological agent-contaminated) room. Crying in a respirator hood can't be good at all.

This day is call'd the Feast of Crispian:
He that out-liues this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named,
And rowse him at the Name of Crispian.
He that shall see this day, and liue old age,
Will yeerely on the Vigil feast his neighbours,
And say, to morrow is Saint Crispian.
Then will he strip his sleeue, and shew his skarres:
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot:
But hee'le remember, with aduantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our Names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words,
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing Cups freshly remembred.
This story shall the good man teach his sonne:
And Crispine Crispian shall ne're goe by,
From this day to the ending of the World,
But we in it shall be remembred;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers:
For he to day that sheds his blood with me,
Shall be my brother: be he ne're so vile,
This day shall gentle his Condition.
And Gentlemen in England, now a bed,
Shall thinke themselues accurst they were not here;
And hold their Manhoods cheape, whiles any speakes,
That fought with vs vpon Saint Crispines day.