The Barry Manilow fans among you will regognize the title above… first line of one of his cheesiest songs, I think it’s called Weekend in New England. In my case, it’s 10 days here. I’m on Day 5. I want to go home.
Spent the first four days or so in Cambridge, across the river from Boston. Spent over an hour writing a blog posting while walking around town in the wee hours Saturday, unable to sleep. Then Sue called, and I had not saved, and the way my Palm Treo works, I ended up *losing* the whole surreal post. AAAGH! It managed to tie together the Pink Floyd song Dogs (from Animals, ~1977), a rainy Fourth of July, our supposedly great hotel, a terrific Italian meal on the North End, Salma Hayek, and various domestic disputes between my wife and I. On second thought, maybe it’s better that it’s lost forever.
So now we’re in Plymouth, along the coast, not quite out on Cape Cod (where I’d rather be), but pretty close. Sue’s Swiss godmother arranged for the “apartment” we’re staying in, so we could meet her here and spend time together the second half of this week. Our rooms sit atop one of the handful of motels here, south of town. It’s an okay place, with a great view, its own “beach” (really a rock wall that only reveals usable sand when the tide goes out), plus indoor and outdoor pools just barely shallow enough for our little learning-to-swim five-year-old. Sue loves it here. I’d prefer to be closer to town, or for it to be more “authentic” somehow, or for them to wipe my rear end when I take a dump. All of which is to say, I’m not having a good time.
I don’t know why I’ve been so grumpy on this trip, but I can’t help it. My family grates on me. Graham’s been whiny. Everything’s too expensive. I’ve had trouble sleeping (a fairly uncommon thing for me, even on vacation.) I get disoriented driving these wacky Massachusetts roads that they don’t mark well. Plus I’ve had chest congestion for 3.5 weeks now, which my wife is now convinced is Lyme disease because I made the mistake of telling her I pulled a tick off my foot after one of our recent Wisconsin trips. I’m calling my doctor in a few minutes here, just to keep her happy. But I’m not having any other symptoms– plus those two have also had flu-like symptoms in the past three weeks also… and they didn’t get any ticks.
Bottom line: this trip’s been one of those times in life where I really don’t want to be the grownup. But I don’t want anyone else making decisions for me, either. Especially my wife. So I’m just stuck in a rut. Ever been there?