04 February 2013


 My birthday but i am at home under a blanket by the fire, mercifully sleepy from worrying about my thieving neighbours' reaction when they return from Germany to see the mess their border is in from the toing and froing in their absence. Everyone tells me to calm down and that it was their original theft of land that brought the subject up.

  • First they erected a fence 1.7metres into the land, blocking me from the DEH metre and stealing my land at a time when I'm trying to sell the place.
  • my topographer instructed his men to remove the fance and erect another well past the cypress roots border and into their land. His reason, to give me land that was 'legal' and save me being fined. I told him that i didnt want to be more of a land-thief than them. In my view, i had lost the moral high ground.
  • they moved it to where i had expected it, leaving large divots and a mess.
  • i am now petrified for their return and imagining my creeping around the house and dreading exiting in case they are there.

HOBBIES OF THE CARE RECEIVER ~ Had to smile wryly. Came across a letter from a caregiver group to whom i had for advice on dementia and my mother's gardenry hobby that wasted so much of my time and temper. The lady didnt read my letter fully. She advised:

  • It was good if the care receiver had a hobby to distract them and caregivers were allowed to lend a hand at the end of the day - within reason. Perhaps set aside a few minutes before the end of ones shift to join in.
  • For instance, 10 mins before official time up to help them with a bit of sky for their jigsaw. Or help with their knitting wool, gathering it to a ball.
  • But to keep a firm eye on the clock and not let it become a precedent or take up more than 10 minutes. If it ran longer than that, to report it to my manager and put an end to it there and then.
I remember the despair. 10 minutes. Huh huh. 

What an absolutely vile business it is. 

I wrote over the weekend to the aunt who seems to be my only 'company', telling her that one of the signs of cracking up seemed to be clearer dreams of excellent 'production values', very simple and life-like and flowing naturally - like perfect cameos:

  • standing in the kitchen, alone, every item crystal clear, and washing up the cutlery in the bowl in the sink (the perfect green)
  • walking down a garden path that always cost my balance, and tripping and catching a railing to stop pitching down.
  • feeding the goldfish - perfect colouring - and moving to the wind behind me so that the wafer thin food blew across the pond.
  • walking down a path and admiring the view.
  • parking the car at the gates on my return and enjoying the time before i had to join the dead dementia repeatia of dead stories of dead people, of more fah blucking gardenry flah drone.
Once i dreamed that we were all gathered together for some event but lived separately so none of us knew or had to suffer the reality of the lies and the thieving and the dementia droning ... there was some bovine care-giver whom me laughed at for her adherence to what she was paid for and sulkiness over being expected to garden and her overkill reaction to efforts by my mother to filch her belongings. It was all peaceful and respectful and when i woke it took me a few seconds to surface to reality.

  • All wonderfully crystal clear camera work and lovely little touches: Anna being here and we'd packed a picnic and when we set off, she had decided to drive and of course took us unerringly to our beach destination.
  • walking in town and suddenly round the corner, a dear friend from Seattle, joining us for a meal, telling old jokes i had forgotten.
  • at my amazon computer, the gang all round, and zipping thru a customer service problem using all the correct technology.
It made me wonder if shrinks had a way of gauging a patient's descent by the clarity of his dreams, like opticians go "is this better? is it clearer now? how about this?" Of course, the patient would need a set of standards, "not as clear as last night ... too factual ... lacking a smooth segue into meeting an old pal ... the colours were better in the dream where I was escaping to London."


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