pink, and other, blindfolds

It can get old to point somebody in the direction of a spoon several times every morning. And, by the way, we keep bowls over there. Just where they’ve been for 15 years. The flip side is the unavoidable pathos of the situation. What I often want to do is bundle the guy into the car and take a trip. A road trip, a boat trip, an airplane trip. Let’s just go places so we can see interesting things and forget about what we can’t do. Matlock and Magnum can stay here.

Gabe is drifting around the house like a Roomba without the added usefulness. He is “heightening his senses” by wearing a blindfold made from a scrap of leftover pink fleece from Rachel’s sock-making project. He is heightening the sensitivity of everyone else’s frayed nerves. If only he could suck up dust and dog hair, but, alas, the result is more likely to be further entropy.

I can’t take the road trip. As is so often the case in life there is no way to perfectly balance the needs of everyone within one’s main sphere of influence. So I might as well welcome Matlock and Magnum as my allies, just as I used to uncomfortably rely on videos to occasionally squeeze in a bit of respite when children were small.

Rachel’s sock project is everywhere. It keeps trying to take over the kitchen counter, but I beat it back every twelve hours or so. I would think covering every square inch of the kitchen table would be adequate. I would think.

There’s a big question mark hovering, almost visibly, over the doxycycline bottle. Does it help? Is this valuable? Are we needlessly stirring things up? Should we declare a truce with the borrelia--maybe invite them to tea--maybe cede just the portion of the brain that controls...I don’t know...how to use a tv remote? Are there even any borrelia in there? We don’t know.