It used to be an automatic thing: sit at the computer, look up the usual sites, check bank balances and fill shopping carts for later purchases. But I don’t sit here as much anymore. What with three bikes able to transport me all over the state, attempting a workout routine, and a full work schedule, sitting in front of a computer has fallen far back in importance. Especially considering that, when I do have a few moments, I feel inclined to put random accumulated crap in its proper place to avoid further clutter and chaos in our humble abode.
But I like to write; I like words, stringing them together to form a picture. Even if I’m not as good as I’d like to think, I don’t do it for others; I do it for me, to appease the part of me that clamors for a history, a story, something to look back on and remember. Perhaps it’s the looming fear of Alzheimer’s which I think of at least daily, believing myself under its influence more and more everyday.
No, I am not diagnosed. Haven’t even see a doctor. Yea, I know I’m probably—likely— overreacting, as C so often tells me, and it’s just age creeping up in another one of it’s evil, underhanded ways to rob me of one more little thing. After all, my grandmother was fine until the ripe age of 94, when she died of complications from a broken hip.
But then there’s my other grandmother, on my father’s side, who went in for surgery and was over-anesthetized, returning home a shell of herself with no memories of any of us. Was it really a hospital accident? I want to believe that now more than I ever did.
So what am I doing to counteract this…possibility? Not as much as I probably could, or should. Back to the first paragraph, I have fun. Is this because I’m losing my brain ever so slowly, the parts of it that assist in everyday decisions such as ‘sit down and write’, ‘create something new’, or even ‘focus’? Or am I instead just running away, enjoying everyday as much as I can before I begin to forget how.
Christ, I’m depressing! Think I’ll keep doing chores, haphazardly as ever. At least Im doing something useful and not pondering the end of my life… as I’d know it.
a grapevine it's not 