~~ The song is loud and clear, in a voice still melodic despite dementia. “La, la, la laaaa, KILL HIM!”
~~ The names have changed in her fog-filled brain. I was “Him,” now I’m “Shit.” Freddy has become “Joe.”
~~ The aide is très dramatique if you call her on anything. She engaged in Occupy Kitchen both Tuesday and Wednesday for three-plus hours at a time, halting me from having lunch. Finally, starving (it was 3:30 pm and I’d had breakfast at 7:00 am) I went in to inquire how fast she could wrap it up. “Oh, oh, oh! You never want me to cook! I’ll never cook again as long as I’m here!” she started, and then continued shouting until I thought my brain would burst. Like a 12-year-old, I went to my room hungry, slamming the door for emphasis.
~~ Yesterday morning I set out to make a cup of tea. She came from her room and literally cut me off on the way to the dispenser. Of course, she drained it entirely.
~~ Unless you are willing to inhale copious amounts of Lysol (I am not — yet), the stench and stink is pervasive. I chose to use both words because they are not redundant. There’s the ever-present stench of someone losing their grip on their body as well as their mind, and there’s the sporadic stinking up of the premises by deceased creatures, abundant unfamiliar spice combos, and burnt toast. Slices and slices of burnt toast, leading me to believe it’s a choice, not an accident.
~~ I have a sliver of good news: My husband’s car is dead, but it’s summer, so it’s easier for him to walk to work.
~~ I wanted to comment on politics here, across the pond, and everywhere else in the world, but it’s a holiday weekend where everyone deserves a break from my well-known proclivities for ever-expansive, all-inclusive, violence-free advocates and activities.
Have a great weekend! Happy 4th!
LET’S GO METS!