You Can't Put 10 Pounds of Sh** In A 5 Pound Bag.

I lost my temper yesterday. The problem is, the things you do daily that are aberrant and explained away by the elder's declining capacity, build up over a period of time until the smallest task is enough to push you over the edge. Yesterday, I gave Ma a card, flower's, checked the TP, bleached the tea stains out of the sinks, cleaned the toilet, washed the floors, took out the garbage, did the laundry and laid out doses of her medications. I do these things regularly but yesterday the stars just didn't align. She was actually rather upbeat and for the first time in years she decided to cook. We have no oven because she is not cognizant enough to turn it off in a timely fashion and it jeopardizes her well being.

Ma went into the kitchen without a word of warning and began preparing pasta in the microwave. She overfilled the container's and overcooked the noodles with too little water until a brick of mush was all that remained. I stopped her when she was putting the gelatinous mess in the microwave for the fifth time. She was hurt because she was trying to be helpful. The trouble is her helpfulness always equates to more work for me. When i stopped her she started crying which angered me as she was complaining about me being so controlling. Where is the line between controlling and protecting drawn? She stormed off, locked herself in her room and turned up the volume on the TV to a painful level.

I believe I am at the end of the line with my patience. I am a good son that is running out of gas. I need a break from my duties as shanty caregiver. I need a break from the worry and guilt associated with raising an elder. A break from being Vice President of TP. A break from delusional ranting and bathroom invasions. A break from rewashing the dishes Ma cleans and puts away. A break from tea stains on everything. In the words of Lilly Von Schtup in "Blazing Saddles", "Let's face it, I'm pooped."