Living with dementia

I won't give it a capital D. I hate it.
Yesterday my mother wasn't sure who I was. She kept calling me one of my sisters' names and I would correct her. Then she got upset. This is a new thing.
She talked to the mistaken sister about it. She said she was confused because, "Penny's a kid, but there was this adult who looked like her. I thought maybe it was you."

This sucks so much.

I don't care if she gets my name wrong. It hurts to see her struggle so much with this stuff. "Who are these people?" "Where did I put that thing?"

In about a month she'll be living in a new place where they can monitor her better. I know it will be very hard for her at first but I think if she relaxes and keeps the anxiety at bay she'll have the opportunity to blossom and be healthy. But for now I see how the anxiety and stress turn her into someone who doesn't know what's going on.

Did I mention I hate this?

Hello, Six Unique Readers

Welcome to the blog. I think this might be too introspective to be of interest to anyone but me. However, if you like to read my crazy ramblings, then by all means, enjoy.

Today I was thinking about karaoke. For serious. I love performing for a crowd and getting a positive reaction. Sure, I've gotten up on that stage and had only mildly null reactions, but never really 100% negative reactions. It seems like if people aren't into it, they'll just clap quietly or not at all.

I took a public speaking class once in college and the instructor (a man who smoked a pipe and wore elbow patches - ya, no kidding) told us that if you make eye contact with a person in the crowd, they will most likely smile back at you, helping to boost your confidence if you are having a fearful moment. When you're a face in a crowd and the speaker or singer makes eye contact with you, suddenly you are somebody. The audience wants you to succeed: they want to be entertained.

Nobody wants to see you fail. Nobody really wants to see anybody else fail...

unless you're skateboarding. Then it's only interesting if you fall.

Introspection

Nobody reads this, so nobody will care if I get introspective for a post or two... or all of them and that's why nobody reads these things.

"Just be yourself."
Or was it...
"Just be your self."

How the hell do I do that? I'm not really sure who I am. Or maybe I have an idea of who I am and I like some parts, but not other parts.

Shouldn't I have figured this crap out by now? I'm 33.

Maybe I'm in a "limbo" state because of my housing situation that is keeping me from feeling independent. God, I miss having my own place. Those were the days. I could have a beer and no one would say absurd things... I could go out and not have to tell anyone where I was going or feel guilty about going anywhere. I was free to be me. And here, stuck in this basement, I am free to be.. who? Teen aged me? Ugh. This is why it sucks. I feel like a teenager again, but in a really bad way.

Am I selfish? Am I tired of people judging me and telling me what to do? YES TO BOTH.

We all have to be a little bit selfish or else we lose our sense of self, right?

God, I miss my old apartment. And all of that sweet, delicious freedom. When will I have it again?

"Just be yourself."
Words of wisdom from John Hodgman.
I'm still making sense of it. More on this another time.
-Not "Penny O'Reilly"

This name is FAKE.

Keep the change, ya filthy animal

Last night I had one of those aggravating/stress dreams that isn't quite a nightmare, but you wake up and your heart is pounding.
In the dream, some weird dirtbag guy stole $20 from my mom at a train station. I found him later, kicked him in the face (he was sitting on a low chair-how convenient for my kicking height) told him to, "keep the 20, douchebag," then led a group of strangers in a slow-chant of "DOUCHEBAG, DOUCHEBAG" while pointing a laughing at the dirtbag thief.
It felt nice an redemptive - as if I were a superhero whose special power is taunting dirtbags with bad words.
I want that power.