cry, go on, cry

Caution: If you have not read the 6th and 7th Harry Potter books and don't want plot points to be spoiled for you, do not read the first half of this blog.

I re-read HP book 6. I didn't cry the last time, because when I read it the first time I didn't believe it. So this time reading it again and knowing that Dumbledore does not show up again, I wept. And of course once I finished with book 6 I couldn't help but start re-reading book 7. It's interesting because this is the first time I read it all for myself. Last time Kat read most of the first part of it out to me, because I wouldn't buy it until I was done with my summer classes. So reading it fully with my own voices and my own inflection is a very interesting experience. And of course the ending of this series is such a twist that going through and re-reading the books with the knowledge you have now that you didn't have before is absolutely fascinating. Despite all of that - the only place I've cried in book 7 is the same place it was before. The death of Dobby. Just wept.
I have softened in my age. Isn't it supposed to be the other way around? When I was younger I cried at almost every movie (I even cried when I watched Clueless the first time, at the point where she wasn't popular any more, I really identified with that) and then I went through a period of many, many years where I didn't cry at any movie or play or book. But the last couple of years it's been slowly creeping back up on me. I'm going to end up a weak little weeper. I don't want to be a weak little weeper.
Also I didn't used to be squeemish at all. I grew up a country bumpkin in the woods and spent half of my childhood in hospitals helping to change my own dressings. Things involving wounds I usually found cool, and while vomit was not pleasant it didn't really phase me. The same with creepy crawly things, as long as the spider wasn't on me, I was okay with it. I also like snakes. Plaid with toads. I was a tomboy in a pink polka-dot dress.
Now I find myself high maintenance enough to have to bring my own special hair dryer on trips, I get squeemish watching medical dramas, I cry in movies, and occasianally I jump and scream at the sight of spiders. What on earth happened to me?