LitaWrites (real_lawyer) wrote,

Tossed Salad Friday

~~ She says to him, in a room that’s suddenly grown quiet, “Let me know how you make out with the cream.” (Turns out, it’s dairy cream for a liver flush, but still.)

~~ He sidles up to me and says, “I didn’t realize you were that funny. But then again I didn’t realize you were Jewish, either.” My lips were definitely smiling as I acknowledged his remark, but I can assure you that my eyes were a mishmash of mystified and alarmed.

~~ The yoga teacher says to the class that she had a dream where she was walking through dense woods until she reached a clearing with a beautiful stream. She thereafter related a wonderful story filled with positive metaphors and life-affirming messages about the cool clarity of said stream.
As is my tendency, I pondered a different approach: what if she dreamed of the stream because she was thirsty? A yearning for a drink need not be interpreted as a wake-up call to women to cease seeing our reflections as filtered through profiteering advertising images and mercenary plastic surgeons!

~~ I’m not proud of myself for this story: After listening to non-stop Creole chattering from Dementia-ville’s current aide starting at breakfast time and lasting through lunch, I spluttered and shrieked, “Oh, shut up already!” I shouldn’t have done it, but I did it.

~~ My husband says that the aide is perhaps reading aloud from a Bible, Koran, or other religious text. I have no desire to find out what she’s up to, but I am nevertheless curious about something. Though neither an expert on religions nor one who wishes to come off as belittling beliefs, I really wonder — what kind of deity expects you to recite phrases/passages/prayers for hours and hours on end?

~~ I do have a white noise generator that also emits “the sounds of nature.” Usually, when the noise level gets to be that intolerable, I turn to the croaking and the splashing of Everglades or the pounding surf of Ocean Waves. Yesterday, when the combo of the dementia patient’s bang-bang-banging her ring on the table and the aide’s praying (or braying) made me yearn for North Korea to nuke Long Island, I turned the dial on my generator to Summer Nights. There was nothing especially musical or mollifying about the chorus of chirping crickets, but it did take the edge off my keen wish for the world to end.

~~ What does the dementia patient think of the chatter or babble she hears? She rarely reacts anymore except to summon a nasty hiss at times. Is she lost in her own world or no world at all… or is it just too much effort to raise her head and profanely object as she did in the past?

~~ What do you do when someone periodically asks for dates to schedule a get-together and then says not a single proposed date is good? I’ve tried asking her to tell me when she’s available, but her reply each time is, “Oh, you’re busier than I am — you choose.” So I need to type up a few more dates that turn out to be inconvenient. I’m thinking of saying “March or April are wide open” and see if it’s a scheduling conflict between us or a personality divergence.

~~ It’s been around for a while, but I just read This Is How: Proven Aid in Overcoming Shyness, Molestation, Fatness, Spinsterhood, Grief, Disease, Lushery, Decrepitude & More for Young and Old Alike by Augusten Burroughs. It’s an amazing book, and though it gets deeply dark and uncomfortable at times, it’s everything you'd want in a how-to manual for life. Here’s a sample:

~~ A reader asked why I have been sharing tweets and memes recently rather than getting on my usual soapbox to spout. I explained that I often write this blog 12 -18 hours before it publishes, and after missing out on quite a few Thursday night news stories from and around the White House (aka bludgeoning of the Constitution, ethics, and decent humanity), I’ve decided to let others do the pontificating:

Dasvidaniya. Have a good weekend!
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