Yesterday was a pitiful waste. I have been thinking lately about how much time I really do just fritter away each day (most of it on computer games). I even make these lists of things to do with my weekend and off hours. But the lists just intimidate me and make me cower in the corner. Truthfully? I do my cowering on the sofa with the fleece blanket, the remote and Robin's Eggs. It's a sad existence I tell you.

I'm depressed. The reason I know I'm not clinical is just that I can list the causes that bring upon my blueness.

I've not been to the gym in weeks. The weather has taken a turn for the wintery again. I feel all puffy and bloatery from the PMS. Unfortunately, knowing all of this doesn't make me any less sad. It doesn't make me feel less like my life could be so much more if I would just pry my ass from the sofa (or this computer chair) and do something constructive.

It does help, I guess, to know that most of this funk will pass in a few days. There is still the never-ending guilt that comes from having married a man who actually makes things up to do when he has a free minute. A man who invents ways to be productive so he won't be caught sitting on his arse.

It could also be that I find it sad to witness the deterioration of my grandmother's mental powers. She is so suddenly an old woman that it is frightening to me. A sample conversation from yesterday:

Grandma: So, I heard you were sick. Are you feeling better?

Me: Yep, feeling much better. It started that weekend we last had dinner. Remember how tired I was? Well, it turns out I was getting sick.

Grandma: So, what was it? A sinus thing? Cause you always seem to have problems with your sinus.

Me: Well, I don't know but we took LB to the Dr. last week and she said there had been a virus going around. I figured that's what it was. I didn't go to the Dr., though, because I was feeling better by then.

Grandma: So did the Dr. say it was sinus?

Me: No, she didn't really look at me. We were there for Max. I was feeling better so I didn't worry about it.

Grandma: Did the Dr. give you some anitbiotics, then?

Me: No, Grandma, I didn't see the Dr. I just felt better.

Grandma: Did you see the Dr. about how tired you've been lately?

Me: ARGGGGHHHHH! (in my head)

It goes on like that. Constantly repeating ourselves. Having to analyze the newspaper stories she's read and then fill in the blanks for her so they make sense. It gets to the point where we sometimes assume she doesn't know what she's talking about and then feel horrible when we find out she was right all along. I think her most frustrating habit of late is the way she'll get bored of whatever we're talking about and then just start a new conversation in the middle of the old one. She doesn't care if there's another conversation going on, she just starts talking. It's particularly fun when LB does the same. Both of them talking at once, wanting your full attention and not giving in to the other.

I miss my grandma. My buddy. My friend. The one who could go and do with me. The one who loved to live life instead of living it through others. Selfish of me, I know.

Her sister is dying. I'm not sure how she feels about this, since they've never been close. She has to call her nephew's wife to get any news. We asked if she wanted to go for a visit, but she found reasons not to.

Her brother is caring for his dying wife. This is a woman we've not seen for over 20 years. We see him only at the funerals of his parents. She did not attend with him. My grandmother feels sad for him, empathy for his plight as she was the one who had to care for her parents as they died slowly. I wonder if she secretly feels vindication for all the years she battled her parents' demons alone? If she does, she's not showing it.

I know it terrifies her, the idea of spending years upon years in some home that smells of urine and Ensure. She thinks our encouragement to have her move to assisted living is us pushing her into a nursing home. She doesn't see that we want her to be able to have fun with what time she has left. We want her to enjoy her life.

I was pleased, yesterday, to hear her talk of having frequent lunches with one of the ladys in her apartment complex. It's a start.

Saturday she will be 82.