I'm human. Some days suck. Some people suck. I'm not some kind of saint who isn't going to bitch about it. It ain't pretty and nobody likes a whiner, but there you have it.

I consistently tried to do the right things. Maybe they were; maybe they weren't. I can't always help how I'm going to feel, and I sure as hell can't help how others feel, but I can pause, I can ask for help divine and human, and I CAN control what I do.

I'm feeling pretty hopeless. And yet everything I did today affirmed hope. I don't feel any differently now, but tomorrow's another day.

Most people go nuts within 3-4 days of proximity to my dad. That's really an upper limit. For some, it's 3-4 hours. I've been here three weeks, and much of it intensively caring for my mom. The rest of it ain't been easy either. I'm proud I haven't blown a gasket or really hurt anybody. And it's fine to feel like I want to.

Three things I did well today: Made damn sure the TV was switched to the German channel, even after the electricity went out; didn't lose my cool even in the hellish heat; asked for help and followed the suggestions.

Three things to work on: a better homicide plan, eating more veggies, more consistent self-care.

Three things I'm grateful for: The ability to live well and help others; getting to watch crap TV; having means to continue training.

I also went and sought sanctuary at my brother's house for a while. They're all crazy, too, but at least it's a different kind of crazy, they understand my crazy, and I will be given something warm to eat and a comfortable place to rest. Their dog Squeaky (looks just like his name) curled up and napped with me, and that felt good. I love spending time with my brother's kids, too. They're closer as siblings to me--in age and all ways--than he is. I wish I'd brought my camera--Ali came by looking just like Jack Sparrow (he has dreads and a very Depp-ish face) and his girlfriend had on these long aqua bell-bottoms that made her look like a mermaid. And her brother came too, and he has long black hair and was wearing a skull T-shirt. Arrrrrgh matey!

They broke out the fire toys and were whirling and dancing in the yard (they perform with them). It was absolutely entrancing.

Well, well, well. Today was just full of surprises.

I woke up with a jolt at 5:30pm from what was supposed to be a short afternoon nap, realizing that I needed to get my mom's dog to her vet appointment at 6:30pm. I was going in dirty athletic gear anyway, since the vet is walking distance and ... that's what I fell asleep in.

So I bound down the stairs and am trying to rush out the front door when I look to my right, and there's my dad ... with the Chief of Police of Indonesia. (We don't have state police here. What would the U.S. equivalent be? Head of the Feds?) My dad beams proudly and says, "Yes, my youngest daughter, and the next savior of Indonesia!"

With pillow streaks on her face, eye goop, and B.O. Awesome. Mumbling apologies about how I'm training and in sport clothes, I greet Mr. Chief, and beat as hasty a retreat as is possible on the borders of politeness.

The reason I'm taking the dog to the vet by myself, despite the fact that we have a plethora of servants including drivers, is that everybody's gone Super Muslim the last few years, and to Super Muslims, dogs are DIRTY. We're talking physically, but more importantly, morally filthy creatures. (No one has been able to explain to me how several of the Muslim ethnic groups in Indonesia eat dog, though). The only time my folks' dog ever gets washed is when I do it. (I'd be a lot more sympathetic about this religious sentiment if it hadn't come on to our staff so suddenly, and in a way that required them to do less work, without, of course, any offer of doing other work to make up for it).

So I'm sitting outside the vet's on a bench, when a female's Islamic-veiled figure pops out the front door. "Mrs. Yanti?" she asks.

"Yes," I answered, "Is the vet ready?"

She hopped over, shook my hand vigorously and to my enormous shock rubbed the dog on the head. "I am the vet! Please come in."

And what a vet she was. She full-on cuddled the dog and let it slurp her face, too. I've never seen any Indonesian vet do that, much less one who happens to be a conservative Muslim.

Three things I did well today: took care of the dog, made sure dinner got on the table, went out briefly to chat with some friends. (a fourth because it's relevant to things I wanted to work on--I returned necessary texts and calls in a timely fashion today).

Three things to work on: remember to change the TV back to the German channel (otherwise Mutti will chuck a fit), go to sleep earlier, eat more (not kidding about this one).

Three things I am grateful for: the means to buy as much healthful food as I like, comfortable sleeping environs, two parents who love me.

My sister asked me on the phone today, "So, what's the good news?"

"Well," I replied, "I didn't kill anybody today."

Pause. "That's terrible news," my sister retorted. "You're clearly slacking."

Maybe from her perspective. Then again, she's got her own problems to deal with. Her husband is sick with dengue fever (damn that damned disease), and their homestead has been invaded by zombie worms.

"Zombie worms?" I thought maybe I hadn't heard her clearly.

"Yes, zombie worms," she repeated. "They have these huge heads with these googly antennae and they're red and yellow--"

"Oh, zombie worms! Yeah! Of course. They look like little aliens--"

She interrupted to continue, "Yes, aliens, and they shed all over the place which makes you itch violently--"

I kept on for her, "and poor Josh already itching from dengue rash--"

"And none of the exterminators will come--"

"Yep," I streamed on, "they hear 'zombie worms' and they're like nope, sorry, we can't help. You really are up shit creek without a paddle."

For a moment all was silent, and glum, for the impossible predicament of zombie worms.

Three things I did well today: got my long bike on, went to the chiropractor, WENT TO SLEEP RELATIVELY EARLY LAST NIGHT!!! :)

Three things to work on: better nutrition planning and execution, restraint of keyboard and tongue, and task prioritization so the most important stuff gets done first.

Three things I'm grateful for: being healthy and mobile, that my mom is physically healthy and mobile, that my dad came back from Singapore safely and his assistant didn't kill him. (Thought about that last one again, and yes, I am grateful for that. She might not be. Haha.)

Three things I did well today: did the run and HELD BACK, found my mom's lost new glasses and put them in her purse, and I went OUT to a gathering at a friend's house! It was so nice and lots of huggy kissy piglets and piglettes. We had baked eggplant for dinner covered in bruschetta topping with feta cheese, big crusty bread slices dipped in olive oil and red wine vinegar. Soooo gooood and I DIDN'T HAVE TO COOK! (I did make dinner for my mom before I left, though, and left very strict serving instructions which I saw were followed when I got back).

Three things to improve on: get to bed earlier, check my phone more often and promptly return important calls and messages, prioritize the day's tasks sometime early in the day so I don't get swallowed up.

Three things I'm grateful for: beautiful friends, my mother's love, and NO GODDAMNED RAT SHIT IN THE KITCHEN ANYMORE!!! :) :) :)

The only easy day was yesterday!

Three things I did well today: washed my mom, took her to the chiro, cooked for us.

Three things to work on: nothing. I gave everything the best shot I could today.

Three things I'm grateful for: spaghetti dinner, Mutti is fun to be around mostly, a nice warm bed.

So. Tired. First half of the day was Ratatouille Battle. Mostly me vs. the staff, who apparently think picking up an oven mitt covered with rat shit and then dropping it into a cooking pot (ONE WE USE TO COOK) to clean it is okay.

Considering how the rest of the day went, I might consider that one of the highlights ...

Much of the difficulty of Alzheimer’s is what I call The Void. Those who are familiar with chronic illness know it has none of the sexiness or panache of acute trauma; no great bloodshed, no broken bones, no ambulances, no heroic rescues, and no fucking one-hour slot on prime time TV.

Instead, most of the time, it’s painfully, repetitively, endlessly repetitively, ad infinitum ad nauseam boring. A simple task can take 20 attempts. The same conversation will be held dozens of times before your loved one’s mind somehow leaps and gloms onto another closed loop. Rinse, repeat.

But even in this tedium, you tread gently between the fine intersecting lines of love, care, and independence. Including yours. Do you march (for the fourth time) back upstairs with your ward to make sure she changes out of her stained, ripped shirt into a clean blouse? Do you change the shirt for her, against her grumbles? Do you ignore the faint odors or wearily push her back in the shower, with strict instructions to wash her hair—with shampoo—and every crevice—with soap? Do you watch her do it? Do you do it?

Trying to get to a noon medical appointment could take the whole day.

Mutti and I went to the hospital today to get radiographs, since she has some cervical spine (neck) stenosis which is causing her pain, and is beginning to show kyphosis in the thoracic region (dowager’s hump). Nothing unusual for a 78-year-old, but it’s good to have the X-rays to see exactly what is what, and as a baseline.

She was already in a huge tizzy about having misplaced her bank book and identity card, and was sweating profusely and in a panic when I came downstairs to take her. It took an hour, several changes of clothing, nonstop wheedling and two gingerbread cookies to get her out of the house. I was very dismayed at the radiology department when, just as we’d seated ourselves, a patient was wheeled into the X-ray rooms, with a suddenly and enormously cacophonic entourage of 40 similarly-dressed followers, who were terribly disappointed to be left at the door, and anxiously prairie-dogged through the smoked glass windows anyway.

It turned out to be a boon, though, as it distracted my heretofore profoundly distressed mother. We just sat there, goggling at the ruffled flock as they craned heads, passed snacks around, snapped group photos, and provided a splendid and timely circus.

“I think I walked into a farmyard,” I yelled to Mutti above the din.

“I don’t feel like we fit in,” Mutti replied. “Maybe we should start clucking?”

I laughed. “Next time I’ll bring a goat on a string and a chicken for your lap!” The entire extended family and several co-workers of an injured woman had shown up at the hospital with her, and somehow both their concern and optimistic merriment were infectious.

And then there was trying to take a set of X-rays with Mutti, who can neither hear nor understand the instructions on where to stand, how to hold herself, and when to stay really still. In the end, I put on one of the hospital’s lead coats and stood with her. It was especially charming that the central air conditioning had broken down in that wing, and that while I was taking a sweat shower in my lead suit, was looking at signs that specified the imaging machinery must be kept below 28 degrees Celsius (definitely not), and that it had last been inspected in 2007 (definitely not comforting).

Three things I did well today: 1) Got Mutti to the Xrays; 2) got the Xrays done, and 3) drew up a draft of the Kitchen Rules List.

Three things to work on: 1) Going to bed earlier, for sure (is there a trend here?) 2) Getting up earlier. 3) Eating more veggies.

Three things I'm grateful for: 1) a great distraction at the hospital! 2) the world's best, smartest, and most loyal driver (at least one person to look out for Mutti), and 3) a good conversation with my sister tonight, and that she's grateful.