As much as I hate bathroom humor, I must admit that bathroom drama is far, far worse.

That’s all I’m going to write about that.  I know you were all dying for a real update from me rather than namegames and quizzes, but trust me when I say be glad.

FINALLY saw “The Notebook.”  Most of you have seen it, but if you haven’t seen it or read the book and you intend to, don’t read this paragraph.  I just wanted to say that it is possibly my favorite love story ever because it doesn’t stop when they meet and fall in love like most chick flicks; it goes beyond that.  Way beyond that.  Also, the Alzheimer’s theme is very dear to my heart.  For as long as I can remember, my grandmother had symptoms of Alzheimer’s.  It wasn’t pleasant; I know she was a wonderful woman, but I really feel that I was robbed of knowing her.  I’ve always tried to know, who has the greatest tragedy?  The woman, robbed of her dignity, who cannot remember her own son’s name?  Or is it worse for the son, robbed of his mother?  My grandma passed away in 2000; she was the first person I knew with Alzheimer’s, but I’ve known many more since and my feelings have only gotten stronger.  No seventeen year old in her right mind actually enjoys waking up at 5 a.m. every other Saturday to clean a nursing home, but the few hours I spent in the Alzheimer’s unit were the best and worst of the day; the best because I could brighten a few faces, the worst because I could again see the tragedy of this disease.  My mom is now the director of the same Alzheimer’s unit; I know sometimes she wonders what good she is doing (like when she is greeted with a shocked reaction to the news of the death of Ronald Reagan…four days in a row) but I know we both feel the same passionate hatred for the disease and love for the people.

Maybe none of this makes sense or is of interest to anyone, but there aren’t very many important things about which I feel this passionate.  Do you ever feel like you’re on the edge of realizing something important?  The only way I can get to that realization, I think, is to think and talk about whatever is really plaguing my mind.

(Hey, it beats reading about demon toilets.)


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