Attack on the senses
By Mike on Sunday 30 December 2007, 23:53 - Journal - Permalink
Dad's annoying telephone behaviour has started to get worse. One thing he
seemed able to do for a quite a long time was waiting for a while before
calling, rather than starting at 5:30, when he gets up. However, that's
how it was, not how it is. The calls start at 6 AM now. And today he broke his
old record, calling me 32 times between the crack of dawn and twenty minutes
after midday. While I was over at their house during the day, cleaning and
fixing things, and providing meals, he obviously didn't call, but after I left
I received another 6 calls - a total of 38 altogether, in just over twelve
hours.
I suspect, though I do not know, that Rachel and Greg got their fair share too.
For me this phone behaviour is a particular problem. I am often still up from the night before when dad rises. By the time he gets on the phone, I am just about to drift into my first deep sleep. Then the phone goes. Some peculiar form of apathy usually stops me from rousing myself to switch it off, and consequently I get shocked out of sleep every few minutes until I finally do get up.
It doesn't really matter if I pick up the phone and answer dad's questions. He will call a few minutes later to repeat them, as if they had only just occurred to him. Many of his calls are only four minutes apart.
When I got to the house, it was my nose's turn for a doing-over. Mum's odour was detectable even as I approached the back door. It is no longer and old person's odour, it is the smell of the homeless. More fetid, more fecal, more fearsome than anything she's achieved before. As I worked, she kept coming to stand beside me. I kept guiding her back the way she came and tried to keep closed doors between us. I repeatedly sprayed the rooms with completely ineffectual air freshener. Dad cannot smell a thing, and therefore thinks I am imagining the stink. I live in fear of touching mum now, and especially having her come into contact with my clothes. Rachel and I have both found the odour detectable for up to four days. Even if it is not there, I am constantly wondering whether it is.
The smell was not helped by the new habit one of them has developed of dropping used toilet paper on the floor rather than in the toilet. Food is left out in the hot summer weather, the cat's litter tray (which mum insisted on providing - one of the first signs of her fading abilities to adapt) gets used and left. The house is turning into a hovel, and the flies are loving it.
I thought I would spare my sense of taste today, as I am getting very squeamish about eating anything in that house. However, i became too hungry and so fastidiously prepared myself a cheese sandwich to get me through the day. It was, inappropriately perhaps, rather pleasant.
I suspect, though I do not know, that Rachel and Greg got their fair share too.
For me this phone behaviour is a particular problem. I am often still up from the night before when dad rises. By the time he gets on the phone, I am just about to drift into my first deep sleep. Then the phone goes. Some peculiar form of apathy usually stops me from rousing myself to switch it off, and consequently I get shocked out of sleep every few minutes until I finally do get up.
It doesn't really matter if I pick up the phone and answer dad's questions. He will call a few minutes later to repeat them, as if they had only just occurred to him. Many of his calls are only four minutes apart.
When I got to the house, it was my nose's turn for a doing-over. Mum's odour was detectable even as I approached the back door. It is no longer and old person's odour, it is the smell of the homeless. More fetid, more fecal, more fearsome than anything she's achieved before. As I worked, she kept coming to stand beside me. I kept guiding her back the way she came and tried to keep closed doors between us. I repeatedly sprayed the rooms with completely ineffectual air freshener. Dad cannot smell a thing, and therefore thinks I am imagining the stink. I live in fear of touching mum now, and especially having her come into contact with my clothes. Rachel and I have both found the odour detectable for up to four days. Even if it is not there, I am constantly wondering whether it is.
The smell was not helped by the new habit one of them has developed of dropping used toilet paper on the floor rather than in the toilet. Food is left out in the hot summer weather, the cat's litter tray (which mum insisted on providing - one of the first signs of her fading abilities to adapt) gets used and left. The house is turning into a hovel, and the flies are loving it.
I thought I would spare my sense of taste today, as I am getting very squeamish about eating anything in that house. However, i became too hungry and so fastidiously prepared myself a cheese sandwich to get me through the day. It was, inappropriately perhaps, rather pleasant.