Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Early Retirement

So I heard everything they told me, and I read all of the support group stuff.

I heard a mythical monkey whisper in my ear. . . nothing. He was too exhausted inside to say a word.

This Alzheimer’s shit makes zombies.




And no, I don’t mean the old lady – she’s not yet a zombie.

She may be somewhere in 1968 or 1969, but she’s certainly lucid in that year. I just wish all of her colleagues at the metaphorical bridge table [you know, all of my dead relatives] could whisper to her to sleep a little more and stop being whacko – just stick to 1968.

Of course, I also wish that I were 32 again, and that I hadn’t xxxxxxxxxxx with yyyyy in that hallway, or zzzzzzzz’d her that one time.

Oh, and I wish I had a new motorcycle.

And maybe a train set.

Anyway, the zombie is me. This caretaker thing is soul-killing, romance-murdering, energy-sapping crap.

Oh, yeah – and unwanted.

There, I vented.

Um, what exactly did that get me?

Oh yeah, it let me explain why I have fewer pictures of my kids, and don’t join the muleboy in talking about the Nationals.

Speaking of the Muleboy, his fascination with his caulk is starting to wear on me. . . .






oh, clever I am

4 comments:

thingy said...

You probably don't want tears either, but I couldn't help it.

I don't know you. You don't know me. But, the heart hurts just the same.

Little Johnny Jewel said...

One of these days we'll get the motorcycle gang back together, and we'll terrorise the passerby.

Just as soon as me and TAnon are capable of engaging the clutch and not immediately sending face to tarmac.

Mythical Monkey said...

My mom's Alzheimers. Worst two years of my life. Paradoxically, once my mom went into the Alzheimer's facility, the next six months of nothing were even worse. Maybe all of it catching up with me, I don't know. Activities that don't allow the attention of my frontal lobes to wander, stuff like building model railroads in 1:160 scale or writing endless essays about old movies, have helped keep me off the window ledge. That and hanging out with Katie-Bar-The-Door, Mister Muleboy, my brother Tom, etc.

Hang in there, bub.

l'il jimmy watson said...

Hang in there, bub.



hmmmm.