And now we enter the biblical plague stage of Gary's dementia. Last night, Gary fell out of bed. He was, of course, attempting to get away from the locusts that were swarming him. And so it was that he came to land on the floor, in his underwear, unable to move and screaming about locusts.
While we waited for the fire department to come pick him up off the floor (again), he became quite agitated at me for calling the fire department when there were, he imagined, at least a dozen house guests who could have helped.
I'm guessing he was referring to the imaginary guests to whom he had been speaking the majority of the night and what a cast of characters they were: a childhood friend (now deceased), his great-uncle (also deceased), his 10th grade Civics teacher and the grandson of someone for whom he worked 35 years ago. I guess, since there was no Pharaoh, it might not have been a biblical plague. I'm just being dramatic.
Anyway, the great-uncle took up the majority of the evening, having climbed through our 2nd story window so he could set-up a Christmas tree in the closet. He also brought gifts: fudge, fudge cookies, fudge brownies, fudge ice cream, a prayer book and several pair of pants that had only one leg. I'm not sure what exactly I'm supposed to do when Gary wants me to put imaginary Christmas lights on an imaginary Christmas tree with his dead uncle in the closet. Again, the docs say don't argue with him, but I'm not so much into pantomiming so I did. I did argue. And then he got mad because I ruined Christmas. In the closet. With his one-legged pants-toting dead great uncle.
I took the day off of work today and I'm going to try to take a nap to prepare for whatever tonight will bring. Probably frogs. Possibly boils.
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