Bad Dreams

Mary woke me up shortly before 6 o'clock this morning. At least, I think she woke me up. I don't remember hearing her bells. (I have a string of them attached to her bed and I wind them around her wheelchair, which I park next to her bed, blocking her escape. I jokingly call it my booby trap, although I don't mean to imply that she is a booby because she's so clever that she still manages to get them undone!) But I must have heard them because I was awake and I knew Mary was, too. I think I may have heard her muttering her, "Jesus, Jesus." or "Dear God, Dear God." When I went in she was rather agitated and said she didn't like all the people being there in the house. Here's where I heave a big sigh and feel incredibly guilty about going away to get a degree I didn't need and leaving her in the hands of strangers--and spending almost all of her savings to pay for them. Just think, if I had that money... No, that's the wrong direction! A nursing home would have cost just as much, I'm sure. But some of the women... it broke my heart to leave her with them. I wouldn't have wanted to stay with them. Now do you see why I called her three times a day?

At any rate, although she does sometimes get confused (not knowing whose house this is, for instance), and although she swears she doesn't dream, I'm sure that's what it was. (She's only admitted to having had one dream since I moved in--a nightmare about 3 years ago in which someone stole her "bean bag"--her most prized possession at the time since it was a new thing.) I've heard talking in her sleep quite a bit these last few months. Something she never used to do. But she did kind of scare me at first with the people thing. When I first moved in with her, she told me that she saw faces up on the ceiling. She said they were friendly but they didn't talk to her and she didn't know who they were. After I was here a few months, they disappeared. That kind of made me feel bad, and yet I was also relieved. Maybe they were watching out for her and when I came, they felt they could leave her in my hands. I hope that was it. But once in the last few months Mary did say that she sometimes sees people. And I know she's seen people in the hospital. Angie hears voices. And she doesn't like it. I've told her to tell them to get lost. She says she's afraid to talk to them, although she has gotten up, looking for them. She's heard them in her house, in our house and in Gina's in St. Louis. She says when she prays her Rosary, they go away. I told her to cover her ears and if she still hears them, then they're in her head and she needs to talk to her doctor, but if she doesn't hear them anymore, then to talk to her priest. Gina thinks it's schizophrenia. I don't want to say that to Ange, though. Her daughter has it--but she had a pretty hard life.

Yeah, so I went ahead and got Mary up this morning. We were both falling asleep in our chairs after a few hours, so I got her to lie back down. Ah, my bed has never seemed so comforting and delicious! However, half an hour later, ding-a-ling-a-ling...

I don't know where the day went. I really do need to keep better track of my days. Make myself more accountable. It was such a windy, blustery day, it just seemed to be made for goofing off. I cooked breakfast, which took some time. And dinner, too. That's part of my problem. I love cooking and baking so much that I have to really limit myself. I tell myself, if I do such and such then I'll allow myself to make something. I don't understand these people (I wanted to write "women," but that's sexist.) who don't enjoy cooking or who can't think of anything to make. It's really quite an addiction for me. I'd love to go to culinary school. But the last thing I need is another degree. It's really quite embarrassing. And I can't even find a job. All book sense and no common sense. No, that's not true. Just spoiled, I guess. Or arrogant. Think I'm something special...

The aunts think I've spoiled Mary. Well, they think she was a spoiled brat to begin with and are just jealous and disgusted that she's the one getting this royal treatment. What can I say? I enjoy spoiling Mary. We're a great team! She's a gracious taker and I'm a willing giver. See, Ange loves to take, too, but she's not gracious about it. She tries to be, but the resentment bleeds through. Her, "Oh, thank you, B." is just too full of self-pity and whining. Whereas Mary's is full of that... hm, I read it in a dating book once, I think the Mars and Venus on a Date one, describing women who give off the vibe that they are certain that a man can satisfy them. I forget the word he used, but, anyway, that's Mary. Oh, sometimes she does have a "poor pitiful me" thank you, which really makes me want to retch, but usually it's so cute the way she says it, you just want to do something else for her. Or she's so tickled with what you've done, you do it again and again just to see her pleasured reaction. Makes you understand how she managed to get married three times. (I always joke with her that she's been married three times, and I can't even manage to get married once. She always says, "Oh, honey, you'll find your match some day. And I hope you fall hard. Like a ton of bricks. Why, you won't know what hit you." To which I always reply that I hope he falls hard, too.)

Yes, I've got to get more organized. If only I didn't have to waste time looking for a job. That does take a lot of time, you know. Or at least it seems to. I guess having it hanging over my head makes me feel unfocused with everything else. I need to get Mary up at a certain time, washed and dressed, exercised, read to... all on a schedule. But life isn't like that. At least, this 93-year-old isn't. Once she gets entrenched with her coffee and newspaper after breakfast, there's no budging her. And by the time she's ready to get dressed, I'm ready for lunch. Then there's coffee after lunch... It's a vicious coffee cycle.

I'm getting comatose! At least we get an extra hour tonight!