The Plans They Made

[mallorys_camera]

I’ve been oddly disheartened recently, a gauzy layer of discontent interposing itself between me and the world, but, you know, clouds – always beautiful. The sky with its infinite stars on a cold, clear night – always beautiful. And when the trees are bare, one sees a lot more architecture.

###

Phone conversation with Max left me sad. Among other things, we talked about my mother’s family. Thinking about my mother’s family always riles up uncomfortable emotions. They were so insane and so dysfunctional. And yet so brilliant and so observant on many levels. They left me with a weird behavioral tick: I always expect to be patted on the head whenever I behave in a perfectly normal fashion because I’m defying my crazy behavioral conditioning. See? I’m a real human girl!

“But they had some good points!” I said to Max. “As batshit crazy as they were. They were really, really smart, and they saw the world through a really unique cultural lens –“

Max laughed. “They were complete narcissists. They were characters in their own novel.”

He didn’t say it meanly.

And in a way, that’s what hurt my feelings the most. Not My Drama, he seemed to be saying. Turning the central, defining, unalterable tragedy of my life into a fuckin’ hashtag.

“As nutty as they were, they had a real sense of cultural true north,” I said. “A real instinct for what’s true and good in literature, painting, music, film –“

“Oh, Mom,” Max scoffed. “They were elitists.”

“You don’t think some literature, painting, music, and film is intrinsically better than others?”

“Well, I know that I personally like some of it better than other. Does that make it better in some intrinsic sense? No. It’s just a matter of personal taste.”

I’m sorry, Max. You're just wrong. There is no universe in which John Le Carré is not a better writer than Tom Clancy! That’s a constant – like the clouds, like the stars.

But there was no way I could argue that fact with Max. I guess he’s learned something at that elitist, prestigious, fancy-dancy law school of his.

###

“So, is Robin graduating? Or is Robin not graduating?” Max asked toward the end of the conversation. By then, the conversation was lapping into the middle of its second hour, which was some kind of record for phone conversations for me.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Shouldn’t you know?” he asked.

“Absolutely, I should know,” I said. “But I’ve been scared to ask.”

So naturally I had to follow up, which meant another half hour on the phone – this time with Ben.

No, Robin is not graduating in December.

Sigh.

Though not through any obvious fuck-up of his own.

Turns out that all those creative writing electives he took last year – Syracuse University is a serious creative writing school, Raymond Carver used to lead the department, and Mary Karr and George Saunders teach there now – don’t count as electives towards the Environmental Science & Forestry degree. (ESF is actually a SUNY land grant college housed on the Syracuse University campus. The two schools share a lot. But not everything.) So now he has to take a semester of electives that will count toward the ESF degree.

His academic advisor hadn’t bothered to fill Robin in on any of this when he met with her last spring.

I’m disappointed for purely selfish, financial reasons: I contribute a not-insignificant-to-me amount of $$$ to Robin’s schooling on a monthly basis, and I was so looking forward to stashing that money in a traveling fund. I have a Major Birthday coming up, and I wanted to go to Iceland or Amsterdam or Timbuktu to celebrate. This is another one of those situations where I want to be patted on the head for recognizing the obligations of a normal parent, I suppose.

Last week was a tough week for RTT all around. It was also the fourth anniversary of Justin’s suicide.



I always think of that James Taylor line when I think of Justin: Suzanne, the plans they made put an end to you.

Justin was a sweet kid. A wacky kid. All he really wanted to do was ride his skate board, smoke a little ganja, make a little love, listen to music. His family was even crazier and more dysfunctional than mine, and in the end, he couldn’t survive what they did to him.

Comments

[bb-lurks.livejournal.com]

FFS. RTT might have paid attention but the advisor.!!! What does s/he do to earn her pay? Dealing with students in difficult circumstances is kind of her remit.

[mallorys-camera.livejournal.com]

I know, right?

Grrr-rr-rrr-rrr!

[signorinakatina.livejournal.com]

#notmydrama.... this was sad for me to read, too. All drama is complicated, and I want the people close to me to understand the nuances. It's not all bad, and it's not at all simple.

[mallorys-camera.livejournal.com]

Sigh. I hear you...

[millysdaughter.livejournal.com]

Ummm - my smallbear had to go an extra year for ONE class that was only offered every-other-spring-semester.. Her advisor did not spot this - and the class was required for her minor!

[mallorys-camera.livejournal.com]

That advisor deserved to be fired.

Unless, manipulating your family into paying for an extra (unnecessary) year of tuition was actually part of her job. Which (thinking about it), it could well have been.