Friday, July 27th:
You'd think that reading a peripatetic novel on the road would be doubly satisfying, kind of like slamming scones while scarfing Austen.
You'd think wrong.
It's true that there was a whole lot of traveling going on. Don Q was gallumphing more or less gracefully down the high road. I was schlepping through two countries and six states. He covered less ground (horse, ass, feet) than I did (plane, train, automobile), but he impaled things a whole lot more. (Don Q's solution to life, the universe, and everything: Lance it!)
I got back yesterday at 2:00 AM EDT.
He, God help him -God help ME- still going.
It's the aimlessness that bugged me. I mean, I had stuff to do! Don Q had stuff to do, too, but it was so amorphous (embody knight errantry! Gallantly!) it might as well have been nothing. And so, even though Don Q and I were both making up our beds anew night after night, and thus ostensibly had something in common, I started to resent him.
Why did he get to run around speechifying when I had to figure out how to make my Power Point go "whoosh?" Why did he get to maunder shirtless over the mesas while I drank a lot of very, very bad coffee?
We'll see if he and I get along better now that I'm at home for the luxurious span of a week.
*Lothario! The word! Comes from Don Quixote! I mean, hot damn! Almost (not quite) worth the schlep!
*Are we there yet?