I have PMS

Nothing else can explain the waterworks that commenced after watching the below video.
Weak!  I am weak!  I, who have done such manly things as: kick carpets; paint; clean butterfly valves; paint and sand; buff and prime; pushups; imbibe scotch; go to strip clubs; pound fence posts; shoot a .22.
Anyways.  Fundamentally I am a whingeing idiot because I have this most wondrous "fear of happiness" thing going on since the last time I was exuberantly happy my father died, and I am verging on happiness now, but my grandmother isn't doing well at all.
It's funny how we just overlook someone's aging.  How many years ago was it that my Nana sat at the piano in our house and just played and played?  Or that me and Jay stayed with her for a few days and she played Rummy with us and took us to Jericho Beach?  I remember walking with her through the UBC endowment lands as a kid and finding a very tame bunny that someone had obviously dumped in the woods and trying to convince my Papa that we should go back and collect it.
It was a no go.
Man. She babysat us one time and somehow the key exchange got messed up and so she, with the aid of our halfwit neighbour half her age (like, why wouldn't he have offered to do this?) climbed up a ladder and through a window that wasn't fully fastened.
Time flies.
I fear being hit by a bus or choking on a chicken bone alone in my apartment.
Not that I gnaw the meat off chicken bones. 
Or take transit.
You get the gist.