Dementiaville

I do not like Dementiaville. I miss my Dad. This is like a really really bad babysitting job where you can't stand the kid and wonder how the parents put up with such an incredible brat and you can't wait to get home and you will never come back. Except the RLB (ROTTEN LITTLE BASTARD) is wearing your Dad's face. And you are not getting paid. It's like mourning someone who is gone, but you see them in front of you. It's exhausting.

What a depressing year.

Sometimes he is cute and sweet, asking questions about how life is here at this new place. Thanking you for the answers (where do I sleep; who sleeps with me; what time do I get up: do I have chores; do I have to milk? do you milk? where are the little kids?) Cooperative. He wants to go home today. Not only back to the USA, but back to the farm over by Verona.

He is at church now. Who would think church could be so annoying? I don't really want anybody to answer that, thank you. Constant talk and worry about mass and insisting on going to church at times when there is no mass, and worrying about his envelope and asking for money for it. I know it doesn't sound that bad, but it goes on for hours and hours and hours and when you are tired and worried and sad, it's a lot. Mom and Joe went to church with him. THAT is a miracle. LOL

Now that I have written this down I feel somewhat better. It's kind of like when you are in the car, and listening to the Carpenters, and have the blues. Well you can only listen to the Carpenters for so long until you pop in some Dr. Hook. Dr. Hook time now. Thanks for listening.

Kay