Our first full day of Disney has come and gone. I forgot how much work vacation is, and how tiring. However, even with all the sweat, I love every moment of Disney. Yes, I know the mass consumption and capitalism is staggering. Does it come with icing? Yes? I’ll take it!
The bonus of it all, is this: I am missing Pride!!! Yay! I don’t have to sit in my house determined not to think about going to Pride and seeing him drunk (everyone will be, this is not meant as a judgment-kind of statement) and enjoying his single life; even better, I don’t have go and see it and try to put on a mask. I had an actual, honest-to-goodness reason to be away that wasn’t even adjusted to help me avoid things. Two years running! Let’s see if we can go for three . . .
I did have a hard moment last night as I lay in bed in our hotel. Thoughts of San Fran. Silent tears were running down my face without me realizing it. It was pitch dark and I didn’t make a sound, but my brother asked, “You’re thinking about San Francisco, huh?”
Because four books aren’t enough to bring on a Disney vacation where I will never sit, I bought another book at the airport: A Reliable Wife, by Robert Goolrick. (Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, 2010) It sounds totally different than what the title suggests. Its sounds awesome, but we will see. It starts off rather depressing though. Two thoughts really resonated with me. Painfully so. Thoughts I hate to admit I have often, but thoughts that in some ways are nice (yet not) to know aren’t original to me. One from the husband’s perspective and one from the wife’s.
Husband (page 8):
“You can live with hopelessness for only so long before you are, in fact, hopeless. He was fifty-four years old, and despair had come to Ralph as an infection, without his even knowing it. He could no pinpoint the moment at which hope had left his heart.”
Wife (page 17):
“She was determined, cold as steel. She would not live without at least some portion of the two things she knew were necessary as a minimum to sustain life. She had spent her years believing that they would come down fro heaven and bless her with riches as she had been blessed with beauty. She believed in the miraculous. Or she had, until she reached an age when, all of a sudden, she realized that the life she was living was, in fact, her life. The clay of her being, so long infinitely malleable, had been formed, hardened into what now seemed a palpable, unchanging object, a shell she inhabited. It shocked her then. It shocked her now, like a slap in the face.”