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mallorys_cameraRemunerated furiously most of the day yesterday, but honestly, I’m not gonna get the present project done before I leave, and though I fantasize about finishing it on vacation—Take your computer! Wake up before dawn!—honestly, I don’t want to do that either.
For one thing, I find it almost impossible to work away from my workspace, even when I’m traveling alone. For another, I think it’s mentally healthy to cut the ties to clunky electronics from time to time.
Went for a long tromp. This photo was taken at three o’clock in the afternoon:
Continued to stew over my complex emotions in response to that Annie photo. Nobody seems to be able to understand them, and I cannot articulate them. Possibly such bursts of intense, incoherent rage are the first sign of dementia in me, and shortly Ichabod will have to move me into Happy Memories Acres as Annie's roommate or something.
###
This morning, the NYT published a piece on assisted-living centers.
It’s long and depressing as hell for anyone over the age of 65. But worth reading.
I crunched some numbers.
Long-term care insurance or not, I’m not gonna be able to afford one of these places. The small mom-and-pop operations have all been gobbled up by chains, and the chains are owned by Wall Street equity firms, which operate them to maximize profit, no service left unbilled—$50 a month for daily reminders: Don’t forget to take your medications this morning, Mrs. Jones!; $26.67 for the half hour an aide might spend helping you change your clothes.
Assisted suicide really is a better option. Not just cheaper, but also… more dignified.
###
Naturally, all this is depressing beyond words and difficult to contemplate rationally without feeling very, very sorry for oneself.
I don’t like thinking of myself as “old,” and resist thinking of myself as “old,” but, of course, I am old.
I suppose part of my reaction to that Annie photograph is the terrible, terrible grief I feel over the loss of someone who was once so vibrant, so alive. The utter usurpation of that person by some defanged hippie crone whose only joy in life comes when younger family members visit.
But it is never Goldengrove unleaving we weep for. It is always Margaret.
For one thing, I find it almost impossible to work away from my workspace, even when I’m traveling alone. For another, I think it’s mentally healthy to cut the ties to clunky electronics from time to time.
Went for a long tromp. This photo was taken at three o’clock in the afternoon:
Continued to stew over my complex emotions in response to that Annie photo. Nobody seems to be able to understand them, and I cannot articulate them. Possibly such bursts of intense, incoherent rage are the first sign of dementia in me, and shortly Ichabod will have to move me into Happy Memories Acres as Annie's roommate or something.
###
This morning, the NYT published a piece on assisted-living centers.
It’s long and depressing as hell for anyone over the age of 65. But worth reading.
I crunched some numbers.
Long-term care insurance or not, I’m not gonna be able to afford one of these places. The small mom-and-pop operations have all been gobbled up by chains, and the chains are owned by Wall Street equity firms, which operate them to maximize profit, no service left unbilled—$50 a month for daily reminders: Don’t forget to take your medications this morning, Mrs. Jones!; $26.67 for the half hour an aide might spend helping you change your clothes.
Assisted suicide really is a better option. Not just cheaper, but also… more dignified.
###
Naturally, all this is depressing beyond words and difficult to contemplate rationally without feeling very, very sorry for oneself.
I don’t like thinking of myself as “old,” and resist thinking of myself as “old,” but, of course, I am old.
I suppose part of my reaction to that Annie photograph is the terrible, terrible grief I feel over the loss of someone who was once so vibrant, so alive. The utter usurpation of that person by some defanged hippie crone whose only joy in life comes when younger family members visit.
But it is never Goldengrove unleaving we weep for. It is always Margaret.
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Date: 2023-11-20 02:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-11-20 02:59 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2023-11-28 08:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-11-24 05:04 am (UTC)It stinks, stinks, stinks, stinks. Pretty much like leaving elders out on a mountain to die.
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Date: 2023-11-28 08:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-11-25 06:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-11-28 08:00 pm (UTC)Suffice it to say that I loathe Annie's daughter and, by connection, Annie's granddaughter (the girl in the photo.) If I didn't hate them quite so much, the photo might not have affected me the way it did.