Dispatches From Hellpeckersville- Undone

You know how I made a resolution to start finishing my projects? Yeah, not only did I break it, but it seems I can’t finish anything. I’ve started two books. I’m half-way through the first, and about three chapters into the second, I don’t know why I stopped. They weren’t bad, I just put them down and that was it.

I have about four sketches started, some of them are fairly well along, I don’t know if I’ll finish. I have one sketch that’s ready for ink. Will it get any? I can’t say. I hope so, I really do. It’s an owl, and I really like it. I know it would be something I’d want to add color to as well, but…shit.

Actually, I kind of know why I stop; I get interrupted. But, I should be able to pick back up, shouldn’t I? I mean, I used to be able to do that. My kids, when they were babies and toddlers, used to interrupt me plenty, but that never really stopped me from finishing anything.

Lately, I feel like one of those bugs suspended in amber. This is not a good sign for me. It’s a precursor of something worse, and I can’t have that. I’m trying to fight against it. I’m doing things with my boys that I can’t bail on, I started coloring a picture in a book, just to try to jump start a spark of creative something, but it reeks of desperation to me, and I don’t know if it’s working, but it has to. I need it to.

I knew this would be hard, being Mom’s caretaker, but no matter how prepared you think you are, you really aren’t. Even if it ain’t your first time at the rodeo, every time is different. I watched my Gram, who I loved more than anything in the world, be taken by a series of strokes, over the course of several years. We cared for her at home as she lost the ability to walk, feed herself, move, speak, and finally to eat or drink. That was a slice of hell I wouldn’t wish on anyone, but I’m here to tell you dementia is worse.

She loves me, but she has no idea who I am. She hugs me, she clings to me, she turns to me, and I will always take care of her, I made her that promise. I made it when we both took care of Gram, and then again, much later, when she suspected this future. At the time she told me she’d rather be dead than have Alzheimer’s. Knowing her, who she was, and who she is now, I am grateful she has no concept of what’s been lost, because what she said was true, she wouldn’t want to be this, she would hate this.

I’m down to not watching movies or teevee shows that might make me cry, because I may not stop. I’m starting to be careful who I want to even talk to about this, because I’m afraid of talking too much about it, afraid of being a drag, and worst of all, I’m afraid they’ll say something horribly ignorant and insensitive, and I’ll think they should know better.

So, I’m treading water in the sea of life, trying to figure out how to proceed. My mind flits from thought to thought, restless and uneasy with the circumstances I find myself in, and those are not going to change any time soon, so the change has to be in me. How I deal.

Wish me luck~