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mallorys_cameraJump: New Glaurus, WI – Evansville, WI – Westside Park: 35 miles
RIGHT out of the lot where we came in… arrows to HWY 69 NORTH
RIGHT onto HWY W EAST out of New Glaurus… becomes HWY 92 EAST in Dayton
After Brooklyn, RIGHT onto HWY 14 EAST to Evansville… arrows to lot
Shows at 5pm/7:30pm
“You’re just feeling sorry for yourself!” Ben snaps at me this morning.
And I look at him, blink a couple of times. Think: Well, yeah… Sure. Of course. Who else is going to feel sorry for me? Or are you implying that because I’m not a noble Detroit auto worker laid off from his job or a dead Iraqi civilian lying in a ditch or a Mumbai slum child who wasn’t an extra in a Danny Boyle movie that I am somehow undeserving of pity? They don’t use up all the misery, you dumb schmuck. Misery is not a function of amplitude.
He also said, “I guess I had no idea how dysfunctional you were last summer.”
And I thought, Well, no you wouldn’t. You never looked.
The thing with the Robin situation is that it feels like such a betrayal. I’d been trying to get Robin to call me since last Friday, his last day at camp. Tell me what you want to do, I will go to bat for you, I texted. Talk to me.
Why didn’t I call him myself?
Because every moment of every day was crammed with wholesome childcentric activities – the amusement park, laser tag, the swimming pool. He couldn’t be interrupted. This is the childhood Robin’s always coveted, I suppose, supervised leisure activities, rules, imposed bedtimes. I don’t blame him for that. I don’t blame him for wanting to start school on time, regularize his life.
I do blame him for playing the various well-meaning adults in his life off against one another. I can charm anyone, he boasted to me last summer with the endearing invincibility of youth.
(Well, no. There will be a wall you slam up against, Robin. Eventually. Not for a few years yet though.)
Ben is wrong – I’m not feeling sorry for myself. I’m furious. The other thing about Robin, Lew wrote, is his apparent unconditional love for his parents. He has NEVER spoken an ill word about either of you to me. Nor I to him, although I have had to bite my tongue many times. Oh right, Lew. He’s smart enough to know that positioning himself as Noble Child With Flaky Parents works much better than whining.
Don’t know how to let go of this anger. Have to let go of it in order to function maturely. But… Do. Not. Know. How.
And also… I don’t really want to let go of the anger. It’s more nourishing than despair.
RIGHT out of the lot where we came in… arrows to HWY 69 NORTH
RIGHT onto HWY W EAST out of New Glaurus… becomes HWY 92 EAST in Dayton
After Brooklyn, RIGHT onto HWY 14 EAST to Evansville… arrows to lot
Shows at 5pm/7:30pm
“You’re just feeling sorry for yourself!” Ben snaps at me this morning.
And I look at him, blink a couple of times. Think: Well, yeah… Sure. Of course. Who else is going to feel sorry for me? Or are you implying that because I’m not a noble Detroit auto worker laid off from his job or a dead Iraqi civilian lying in a ditch or a Mumbai slum child who wasn’t an extra in a Danny Boyle movie that I am somehow undeserving of pity? They don’t use up all the misery, you dumb schmuck. Misery is not a function of amplitude.
He also said, “I guess I had no idea how dysfunctional you were last summer.”
And I thought, Well, no you wouldn’t. You never looked.
The thing with the Robin situation is that it feels like such a betrayal. I’d been trying to get Robin to call me since last Friday, his last day at camp. Tell me what you want to do, I will go to bat for you, I texted. Talk to me.
Why didn’t I call him myself?
Because every moment of every day was crammed with wholesome childcentric activities – the amusement park, laser tag, the swimming pool. He couldn’t be interrupted. This is the childhood Robin’s always coveted, I suppose, supervised leisure activities, rules, imposed bedtimes. I don’t blame him for that. I don’t blame him for wanting to start school on time, regularize his life.
I do blame him for playing the various well-meaning adults in his life off against one another. I can charm anyone, he boasted to me last summer with the endearing invincibility of youth.
(Well, no. There will be a wall you slam up against, Robin. Eventually. Not for a few years yet though.)
Ben is wrong – I’m not feeling sorry for myself. I’m furious. The other thing about Robin, Lew wrote, is his apparent unconditional love for his parents. He has NEVER spoken an ill word about either of you to me. Nor I to him, although I have had to bite my tongue many times. Oh right, Lew. He’s smart enough to know that positioning himself as Noble Child With Flaky Parents works much better than whining.
Don’t know how to let go of this anger. Have to let go of it in order to function maturely. But… Do. Not. Know. How.
And also… I don’t really want to let go of the anger. It’s more nourishing than despair.
