March 23, 2004
He sits in the chair in the corner, and he tells me he wants to take the spray bottle of Febreze that's sitting next to him and spray it in his mouth.
I tell him not to, remove the Febreze from his reach, and ask if he wants a cookie. A health food cookie. I just had one. They're quite good.
He says he's suddenly having suicidal ideations.
I ask if he's depressed. Leave it to me to ask the obvious.
He says he's not any more depressed than usual.
I'm supposed to be going out to dinner in a bit.
He doesn't know what's going on with him, he can't describe it nor define it.
He asks what I'm doing. I tell him I'm writing this as we speak. He says to be sure I tell you about his shoes.
We bought him new shoes the other day, New Balance shoes because no one carries Reeboks anymoe. He loves Reeboks. His old ones were falling apart.
He wore his new ones today, and then, when he came over just a bit ago, he had one old shoe on and one new shoe. When I asked why he said it was because "I don't want the old pair to get lonely." Apparently we're on a rotating schedule to let the old pair out slowly and painlessly.
I'm going out for pasta soon. I ask if he'll be okay while I'm gone.
He nods his head, he affirms that he'll be okay, that nothing drastic will happen while I'm out living my life. I ask if there's anything I can do, and he says, "No, I don't think so."
He just feels, he says, "stuck." Just in general. I wish he could define it a bit better, verbalize what's going on, so I can offer something up, but as it is, I don't know what to say. He has a list of things to do, but says when he looks at it he feels like he's done it all but he hasn't.
I tell him we'll make a new list, in the morning. This should work. We work off a task list I make in Outlook. Tasks for me, tasks for him. I need to add to my list too, and refine and rework his list. He does better with a list, doesn't get lost so much, doesn't founder in the daily details of living.
So tomorrow we'll make a new list. He doesn't think he'll cut tonight because, as he says, "I'm just too lazy tonight." All his knives are dirty and he's too lazy to clean them -- he won't cut with a dirty knife. Lack of hygiene does have its good points.
I'm going out to dinner. He'll go back to his apartment and hang out with the dog. I'm having pasta for dinner. He hasn't decided what to do for dinner yet. I brought him Mexican food for lunch -- I had lunch with a friend but I only eat half my food anymore, and I always bring him the rest.
He asks if we picked up his lithium yesterday. I tell him that was today, we went to Costco this afternoon, and asked if he's had any yet. He thinks that was yesterday, and no, he hasn't had any yet. I suggest he do so.
He brings me what he calls my "atlas" off the printer -- my dining companion wasn't sure of the name of the restaurant, but it's on Roosevelt in North Settle, between 65th and 80th. When I looked for the address on Yahoo, I discovered about a dozen Italian restaurants in that area. I printed out the maps. When I get close I can call my dining companion and find out which one he's at so I know where I'm going. Stew finds this amusing.
He would. Even now, he's amused by my antics. Another successful intervention, we might call it. The Febreze is safe for another day.
I tell him not to, remove the Febreze from his reach, and ask if he wants a cookie. A health food cookie. I just had one. They're quite good.
He says he's suddenly having suicidal ideations.
I ask if he's depressed. Leave it to me to ask the obvious.
He says he's not any more depressed than usual.
I'm supposed to be going out to dinner in a bit.
He doesn't know what's going on with him, he can't describe it nor define it.
He asks what I'm doing. I tell him I'm writing this as we speak. He says to be sure I tell you about his shoes.
We bought him new shoes the other day, New Balance shoes because no one carries Reeboks anymoe. He loves Reeboks. His old ones were falling apart.
He wore his new ones today, and then, when he came over just a bit ago, he had one old shoe on and one new shoe. When I asked why he said it was because "I don't want the old pair to get lonely." Apparently we're on a rotating schedule to let the old pair out slowly and painlessly.
I'm going out for pasta soon. I ask if he'll be okay while I'm gone.
He nods his head, he affirms that he'll be okay, that nothing drastic will happen while I'm out living my life. I ask if there's anything I can do, and he says, "No, I don't think so."
He just feels, he says, "stuck." Just in general. I wish he could define it a bit better, verbalize what's going on, so I can offer something up, but as it is, I don't know what to say. He has a list of things to do, but says when he looks at it he feels like he's done it all but he hasn't.
I tell him we'll make a new list, in the morning. This should work. We work off a task list I make in Outlook. Tasks for me, tasks for him. I need to add to my list too, and refine and rework his list. He does better with a list, doesn't get lost so much, doesn't founder in the daily details of living.
So tomorrow we'll make a new list. He doesn't think he'll cut tonight because, as he says, "I'm just too lazy tonight." All his knives are dirty and he's too lazy to clean them -- he won't cut with a dirty knife. Lack of hygiene does have its good points.
I'm going out to dinner. He'll go back to his apartment and hang out with the dog. I'm having pasta for dinner. He hasn't decided what to do for dinner yet. I brought him Mexican food for lunch -- I had lunch with a friend but I only eat half my food anymore, and I always bring him the rest.
He asks if we picked up his lithium yesterday. I tell him that was today, we went to Costco this afternoon, and asked if he's had any yet. He thinks that was yesterday, and no, he hasn't had any yet. I suggest he do so.
He brings me what he calls my "atlas" off the printer -- my dining companion wasn't sure of the name of the restaurant, but it's on Roosevelt in North Settle, between 65th and 80th. When I looked for the address on Yahoo, I discovered about a dozen Italian restaurants in that area. I printed out the maps. When I get close I can call my dining companion and find out which one he's at so I know where I'm going. Stew finds this amusing.
He would. Even now, he's amused by my antics. Another successful intervention, we might call it. The Febreze is safe for another day.
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