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Massive sleep.
3 – 6:30. Maybe longer. Started 8 in the morning. After I got home from work. First time ‘home’ is used. It’s accommodation. – it’s home. – this is, after all, where I lay my bones. The point was: work. I Anyway, I feel like shit. Coffee makes me feel worse. Might be a water diet coming up soon. I Anyway, Work with dementia patients. Now. At a retirement home. In the special care wing. 40 minute drive to and from work. This will kill the bank account. I work three days a week. Four days to recover. Night shift. 11 – 7. Go to work at night, Come home in the morning. Wake up in time for lunch. Many of the patients bring a smile to my face, Even Len the one who hates me, Pushing his walker in front, Suspicious of what I'm up to; Ready to ram me any chance possible. Twitter I've become frustrated with; Depressing to see the sickness in the world, Depressing to think I can do nothing about it. This is a place where I feel I can do some good in the world. If I bring happiness to the patients They bring happiness to me, – the egoist in action.
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There are times I feel like my father: suspicious concerns about what others might think of me; there are times I feel like my brother: smug satisfaction in thinking I'm right; but mostly I feel like my mother: feeling the pain and loss of a world that separates us from the happiness we most desire.
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