Did you know that 375 mL bottles are shaped so they perfectly fit your lower back where your pants meet your back?
How exactly does one discover this? Were you fitting bottles in your pants for fun or what?
Is that a 375mL bottle perfectly shaped for your lower back in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?
Gods I'm so thirsty (in both those senses) this sounds like a dream.
Feels like it's been more than two weeks, bluh. The crazy semi-waking dreams are pretty much gone, along with the nervous energy. I figure I'm probably over the physical symptoms.
Thing is I've been housesitting my Gma for most of that time, and I'm getting bored out of my freakin skull. I can't really focus on anything because I have to engage in the most asinine small-talk imaginable. Repeatedly, because dementia. Did you know she doesn't like the rain? I will never forget, that's for sure. 8 times she asked what fell out the window (nothing did, the windows don't open, she just had a dream where *I* fell out and then adjusted the delusion after the first telling. Yes, she asked me how falling out of the 5th story window went).
I'm just killing time and getting paid for it. I guess that's... pretty normal, jeez. And when I can get her focusing on old photos, she starts talking about family history, and some of that's pretty cool. She sure enjoys it.
I'm not sure what she meant by the family "rolling a tire down south from England" to NC. But I bet someone did die in a turkeyshoot before "we" built the farm.
It'd be cool if she mistook me for a woman just once, considering I've been her brother, son, nephew, or just "that man". But at one point she called me dad's husband, and that got a laugh out of both of us once she realized XD
(I'm not a man or woman, but I have no desire to try to explain that to her. I don't even understand it myself. I just don't like the reminder about how I appear)
It's kinda weird how I see her demented state and want to essentially join in, via alcohol. Except she's constantly worrying about problems which don't exist, whereas I'd like to briefly stop worrying about problems which are... under control, and don't need to be obsessed about.
Thursday's moving day. For the past two weeks we've basically shoveled moondust into random piles, me and her, so she can feel like she's getting ready. But there's really nothing she needs to do. It doesn't even feel sad anymore. Dad pointed out that she's been reading the same book for months, and my honest reaction was to shrug because she clearly enjoys it still. That ought to horrify me, right?
This Saturday I might have a juniper-flavored lotus blossom. Dunno.