Nothing but us crickets in here...
It's been almost four months since my last update. I keep renewing my account in the hopes that I will be inspired to record more of my self here. Sadly, I can't seem to be bothered; however, in yet another attempt to get motivated, I, once again, paid my $5 and, I guess, will see how far it gets me.
Burning Man was amazing. My best one ever. This year was all about baby steps for me. If you take enough of them, you can wind up really much farther than you ever anticipated. A few things I'll always cherish and remember:
Sitting in my carport, Monday afternoon, during the downpour, I cried from happiness. I was okay. I wasn't freaking out about the weather or my shelter nearly blowing away. I was okay and I was happy. I'm always going to remember this moment.
Meeting a real live Italian Prince Monday morning at the Box Office. I was so starstruck. He was gorgeous! As was his English fiance. I failed to get a picture of him but he took my picture which means I will forever be a part of his first Burning Man experience.
Sharing a couple of sweet kisses with a handsome stranger. I never tried finding him again after Wednesday night. I wanted to keep the experience pure and blight free.
Being hugged by a stranger as I stood at my bicycle, crying outside of the Temple. He saw my upset and simply held me. No words other than my "thank you" were exchanged.
Greeting my friend, Jennie-Sue as she arrived at her first ever Burning Man. Serendipitously, she came through the greeter station during my shift. It was awesome!
It's getting harder to visit my Dad. He only becomes agitated and angry. He questions my love for him as well as my intentions for his care. He still stalwartly refuses to acknowledge that he is ill; however, he recognizes he is getting worse but attributes it to his surroundings. He can't conceptualize that his decining mental state is a symptom of his disease. He'll yell at me and when I can't take it anymore, I get up and leave. I always try to hug and kiss him before I leave. A number of times, after I've left him either at a table in the dining room or some other room at the lodge, he has surprised me by waiting for me at my car. He stands there, forlornly, with his walker. He says he just wanted to say goodbye and he'll hug and kiss me. He doesn't remember just yelling at me and crying or being close to tears. It breaks my heart. He demands examples of his disease and when I supply them, he accuses me of lying. He doesn't remember them and therefore they never happened.
He was diagnozed five years ago. The average Alzheimer's patient lives seven years after their initial diagnosis. Only thee percent live for fourteen years.
Burning Man was amazing. My best one ever. This year was all about baby steps for me. If you take enough of them, you can wind up really much farther than you ever anticipated. A few things I'll always cherish and remember:
It's getting harder to visit my Dad. He only becomes agitated and angry. He questions my love for him as well as my intentions for his care. He still stalwartly refuses to acknowledge that he is ill; however, he recognizes he is getting worse but attributes it to his surroundings. He can't conceptualize that his decining mental state is a symptom of his disease. He'll yell at me and when I can't take it anymore, I get up and leave. I always try to hug and kiss him before I leave. A number of times, after I've left him either at a table in the dining room or some other room at the lodge, he has surprised me by waiting for me at my car. He stands there, forlornly, with his walker. He says he just wanted to say goodbye and he'll hug and kiss me. He doesn't remember just yelling at me and crying or being close to tears. It breaks my heart. He demands examples of his disease and when I supply them, he accuses me of lying. He doesn't remember them and therefore they never happened.
He was diagnozed five years ago. The average Alzheimer's patient lives seven years after their initial diagnosis. Only thee percent live for fourteen years.