Gran: Still not eating your dinner?
Me: I have eaten already.
A minute later..
Gran: Aren’t you going to eat?
Me: Ate finish already, gran.
Approximately three minutes later..
Gran: Eating your dinner yet?
Me: I have finished a while ago.
I try and try to give different answers hoping a particular structured statement sinks into my Gran’s mind and stay in there.
But well, dementia works that way. Words don’t stay.
Kinda envious (maybe i say too soon) , but it’s pretty carefree y’know? Only remembering the past (good and bad ones), yet whatever hurts you in the present your mind don’t have the capacity to keep it in anymore.
the way with dementia is to prevent it from deteriorating fast, you can only do certain things to exercise your brain muscle to slow down the process.
Someday, your Gran is going to forget a huge piece of memory about you.
Well, she’s already forgotten a lot of huge pieces. It’s out of my control. Yeah it hurts every single time, but the only thing i am doing right? It is being the one who remembers it all. At least that makes one of us. At least the moments won’t go completely forgotten by us both.
People with severe dementia, everyday is a complete brand new day for them.
It makes them… Clean.
Aren’t Goldfishes having a time of their lives? I think they could be one of the happiest living thing.
that makes sense, doesn’t it?
And … overly attached? Don’t judge, don’t. You don’t have a say in it. Every couple has a different story, a different form of dynamic and attachment.
At least i am not rubbing things in your face. So don’t give that judgmental look which you can’t hide away.
You don’t look nice when you give that, take a look in the mirror.
Meanwhile, got doubly fucked over by the first paper, made so much mistakes (careless ones too i might add), i wouldn’t be surprise if i score 20marks range out of 100.
Yes, it’s atrocious to the point i was humming Charlie Puth’s See You Again after handing in my exam script.
Definitely ready to retake that module again next year. Fuck my brain.
Okay that’s the last time you hear me talking about the first paper.
On to the next one, Sheryl.
Still find myself walking to that spot, only to find it empty and cold.
Back to my thoughts .