“And pictures of perfection, as you know, make me sick and wicked.” Jane Austen

I'm losing these

I’m losing these

Actual thought I had this morning: “I wonder if I had an intruder. I have zero recollection of emptying my dishwasher. Maybe someone broke into my house and emptied the dishwasher and put all my stuff in the right place. That would be freaky.” Then I immediately thought of the logical next thing everyone would, which is “why can’t I even have an interesting intruder?” There are a lot of things wrong with this – mostly that I can’t remember emptying the dishwasher, then immediately going to “intruder” instead of “dementia” and then being upset that the intruder, if there was one, was boring and emptied the dishwasher instead of, say, knifing me in the stomach or hiding in my bedroom closet wearing a clown mask.

I’m looking into mood stabilizers.

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One response to ““And pictures of perfection, as you know, make me sick and wicked.” Jane Austen

  1. Did you so quickly forget about the ghost you had that put away your cat food? You have a very clean helpful ghost

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