Jo came over last night and we chatted and laughed for hours. The time also involved moderate indulgence (we were good) of take away food and beer. I cleared up both rooms just for her, because she's special. Yesterday was the first time I'd cleared/cleaned the living room in Idon'tevenknowhowlong. Even Wayne and Waynetta would cower at what I found in that festering hovel so it's best I don't tell you any more about that. In fact, forget I said anything. I'm insistent on my surroundings being immaculate and freakishly sanitary at ALL times.
Anyway, we cruised onto the subject of our old work place. A building and environment both detested and loved (in a way that you love something simply because it's been a part of you for so long) by all who are regularly present there. As always happens when we talk about Lennox Wood the conversation begins with laughs but develops into a profound psychoanalysis of the human condition and it's very own cancer - mental illness. And the worst mental illness of all is Dementia. Unforgiving, illimitable and ruthlessly cruel. The elderly people we looked after weren't just the usual young person's perception of oldies: charming, anachronistic glimpses into how the world once was. Sweet and frail. They were like that sometimes (albeit, more often than not, indecipherable at the same time, or painfully vague) but could turn at any moment into something hideous, violent and dreadful. Inhuman. My years spent there will not be forgotten.
My knees are cold.
Mum's going to Spain tomorrow. Let's pretend I'm not going to miss her. I'm looking forward to it in a way though because I feel more independent when I'm not around my mother so time spent apart is good for me. Christ knows it's good for her!
I need to try and get an early night but it's quite clear that ain't 'appening. NIGHT GUYS!
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