I know things. I used to know a lot more things. My brain has holes in it and things fall out. Perhaps someone will find these facts and ideas on the ground and pick them up and do something with them.
I know that with dementia (gourd, I hate that word!) comes mood swings. I don't know if one could say what I'm experiencing is swinging actually, since I've fought depression all my life, but lately I've had anger like I've never experienced before.
Anger is a tough thing for a pacifist. It tends to come out in my dreams, where lately I've been screaming at people and even punching them. Even though, when I was young, my brothers tried to teach me how to hit like a boy, I never really practiced, and even in my dreams it's evident. The only person I ever actually slugged was Dr. Korte, when I was in labor. She said she'd been hit harder.
Anyway, my point is that I get really, really angry lately. It seems reasonable actually, in light of what is happening to Earth, to our country specifically, but it isn't very helpful. It is also reasonable, I think, because though I often have hope that this is all a mistake, it's becoming more and more obvious that something bad is going on in my very favorite organ.
Just now I had to read back to see if I could find reference to my story about hitting Dr. Korte. I didn't immediately find one, but if I've written it before, get over it. It's a good story. And sometimes I search a thesaurus or call a trusted friend to find a word or a phrase that used to be right there.
When I read my old posts - old as in ones I wrote last week or two days ago - I'm usually amazed at how well written they are, how clever. But I don't remember writing them. And I'm often ashamed at how many mistakes in spelling and punctuation there are. I don't make those mistakes. Well, at least I didn't used to make them. I'm so grateful that I can still write. Of course, I'm assuming here, that I still write well. It could actually be gobblydee gook.
I'd hoped to write a daily blog about my life with the BBD, but there are lots of days I just can't. Ideas float about in clouds and are often obscured. And sometimes the clouds are stormy ones and then anything I write is full of all three of my curse words.
It's not pleasant to write about me becoming stupid, but I think it's important. And as my ego is shrinking lately, I am less embarrassed. I used to write about depression a lot, trying to educate people that it isn't a failure of character or weakness, but a disease just as diabetes or heart disease. Well, guess what? So is dementia.
Sometimes it's sort of cool to enjoy things I've enjoyed before as if for the first time. And I can remember Mary Ann's rainbow cancans she wore when we were in Kindergarten. I can remember Julie getting her new norange bike, and the smell of the cherry trees I climbed as a child as if I experienced them all yesterday. Who's to say those things aren't much, much better than the things I actually experienced yesterday.
And as my friend Zab would say, there is no yesterday, no tomorrow, only Now. Another friend, Ray, just now told me to ". . . try harder. Focus on being happy." Maybe this is what he meant. What is time anyway?
I'm grateful.
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