Then the phone rings.
MW calls in a panic; she needs me to close her yahoo email account quick because she just gave that address to a clerk at Nordstrom’s, but then the clerk said something about how Nordstrom’s carries a brand of perfume - but they don't carry that perfume - so MW is worried that the clerk is going to use her email address for some scam. Because she lied about the perfume. Can not be trusted.
Yeeeeaaaahhhh. No. I have to keep drinking.
Again, this journal doesn't do justice to the situ. All conversations with MW are confounding or confusing. Lately she's been embodying the spirit of Ralph Kramden with every waking moment dedicated to figuring out some sort of money-making scheme. Dog walking, candy store, hair-stylists.... Uber driver.
Fortunately I'm around to talk her down from these flights. Or is it? Might be best if she were allowed to chase some dreams now, before it is too late. The thing is; she can't do anything on her own. She can't even get the right groceries anymore. Hell, I'm making sure there are open cans of dog food before I leave the house in the morning. Oh, she'd manage to get one open if she needed to, but then I'd be cleaning up the mess when I came home. So if I wanted to see MW realize her lifelong dream of, say, starting a candy store, I'd have to quit my job to help make it happen.
No fucking way. I need this job. They’re the only friends I have.
***
MW has been sleeping well. Figures. Right when I've reached the point of constant nocturnal alcohol sickness, MW stops having those all-night dementia parties. No rest for the wicked.She does still do that four in the morning shout-out. I'm already awake for it, so it doesn't jolt me as bad anymore. Last night was weird in that she kept going. Normally she'll just blurt out a few words, maybe a full sentence, but last night she carried on a conversation for a couple of minutes. Fun.
***
Speaking to the void now - I'm just about ready to give this up. It didn't take long for me to realize it wasn't going to be of any use, and though I've been telling myself it is helpful as an outlet - it isn't. It’s pathetic and embarrassing. I look at other Huntington’s disease blogs and they’re all about hope and family and advocacy…. I’ve no hope; no family. In my weaker moments I fantasize about what it must be like to belong to an advocacy group – in communication with people who understand what MW and I are going through; working to make it better. Shit yes, I’ll walk for donations! Give me one of those goddamned t-shirts – blue looks great on me. You know I’ve never been one to join groups or take up causes, but I think I could really get into HD advocacy. Christ, just to be of some use; some help.If only….
Anyway, the thought of continuing these journal entries has become oppressive and depressing. Time to call it quits.
