Mark's Promise

On our drive back home to Florida we decided that trying to do it in two days was insane. Okay, I actually decided that letting Mark drive at all was insane, but I had no choice. In fact, after sitting in the passenger seat for a few hours listening to Mark's constant whining, and screaming, while huge semi-trucks loomed in our rear view mirrors, I decided that Mark was insane. There was also this.
Mark, "How does this cruise thingy work again?"
Me, "Push the button in, and when you reach the speed you want push down on the lever."
At that point Mark would speed up to seventy five miles per hour, and push down on the lever. As the car slowly drifted back down to thirty miles per hour I'd ask, "Did you push in the button?"
"Stop yelling at me, I can't figure this crap out, why are you so mean to me.........  " (For years Mark was responsible for the operation of the County Courts computer system, yet cruise control is a mystery to him)
He would then begin sobbing while at the same time berating me for screaming at him not to get us killed.

I was laying back in the seat with a nice little pillow under my head, resting. It was very relaxing, Mark had actually driven ten minutes without panicking, and the hum of the pavement lulled me into a semi-conscious stupor.
"How do I speed up with this cruise control?", Mark asked, jarring me back to reality.
"Push the lever up to speed up, push down to slow down. Up, speed up, down, slow down. Easy, just remember that."
Two minutes later, as I was drifting off to sleep.
"How do I slow down?"
"Like I said, push down to slow down, Push up to speed up. Down, slow down, up, speed up."
I again tried to sit back and relax, unable to actually sleep knowing some highway mystery would perplex Mark within minutes.

So why was I trying to get some sleep while Mark was doing all the driving? Here is the truth. I drove ninety percent of the way to Chicago and back. This little respite from me trying to drive with my blindness, was because I was actually seeing double with what little sight I have left. Mark's promise of driving all the way to Chicago ended around Port Saint Lucie, Florida, and I had to make a decision. Do I want to die with Mark at the wheel, or take a chance that my vision is just good enough to see the white lines on the interstate? That's how bad a driver Mark is, I chose to drive. My only other option was Chandler, and he's only a marginally better driver than Mark.