So, I'm feeling better, thanks to everyone who said nice things (and extra thanks to those who, though they think I'm a ridiculous whiner, restrained themselves from hitting the comments button to tell me so). I had an important realization about the exercise of power Monday night while watching an episode from the second season of The Sopranos. Though I don't have time to get all Foulcauldian on your ass, I will say that I was just tired of being nice all the time. It's a long story.
Earlier that day -- pre-epiphany, so I was still feeling huffy -- we went to the beach because the apartment was unbearably hot. (I am not a beach person, I get bored very quickly, even with a bag full of books, so don't ask me to go to Mexico with you or you will see just how silent and miserable I can be, but if you're like Jack you'll enjoy yourself anyway and not play my foolish games, so that I finally have to get over myself and drink a few pina coladas at the swim-up bar.) Jack went swimming, and Jackson and I just sat on our blanket and looked out to sea philosophically, me thinking about how empty I felt, Jackson eating ice cubes and wondering how not to let his feet touch the sand at any cost. How could a boy who clung to my shoulder when I took him near the water still end up with a butt crack full of grit? Honestly.
I finally got my Yankees Glitter Tiny Tank in the mail, just in time for a Yankeeless postseason. Oh, well, maybe I can console Jack with it somehow. I'm sure I'll think of something.
Yesterday was Dykeish Mom Day at the park. Lots of lone moms in LPGA-type outfits and sensible haircuts eyballing one another. Plus we also had the usual chatty hippie contingent (and their longhaired babies with names like Elijah and London). Nobody really struck my fancy, though, so that dream three-way will just have to wait.
And finally . . .
Things I have found Jackson reading upside down in the last week:
1. A copy of Madame Bovary with the cover ripped off
2. A cassette of James Mason reading Lolita (abridged)
3. A Shambhala Pocket Classic version of The Way of Chuang Tzu by Thomas Merton
That's one deep baby.
(Click the picture for the full image.)