The Cuban is trying to walk too quickly into my personal space. Undying love is great two or three nights a week, but I am by nature a solitary person. I spent all day yesterday hanging out with my boys. Lee is home for the weekend and it was nice to just sit around and do nothing. This morning I started reading The Glass Castle. It is a good book, well written, but it is hitting close to home. I am still not sure if that makes it better or worse.
Walls is thirteen years older than me so we were living nomadic lives in some of the same places more than a decade apart. We both had alcoholic fathers that made running from trouble, debt, or police a habit. This habit transforms a childhood, making it both exciting a wearisome. I could not help but feel a little jealous. My parents did not have the imagination, and/or concern, to make this lifestyle more adventurous. We children were often squished in the back seat in the middle of the night, but no reason such as running from the gestapo was ever given to us. We were not doing a skedaddle, we were just moving again. We picked up details from conversations we were not supposed to hear to explain the sudden flight. The individual personalities and details of the book were different, but the overall experience in the book was similar to my childhood. While I felt jealous about the start of the book I did have the advantage of having a much better state of squalor to live in when the nomadic lifestyle came to an end. My mother did snap out of her denial, get a job, and try to make a life for her children.
It is a good book, but I am not sure how much I want to discuss it with my book club.