Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

Putting the TMI in absentminded

  • The great misremembering: a breakthrough

    Recently I posted about a conversation I had that could not possibly have happened, and commented that “after this story went from the psych counselor to the psychiatrist, the neurologist wants to have me come in.”

    So I was all mentally prepared for my appointment this coming Friday. I was ready to have the neurologist’s physician’s assistant say, “the memory does weird stuff sometimes” just as everyone else had.

    Then I was in the garage and suddenly, randomly remembered the old days in the nineties when I had my two episodes of depression. One, in which I was A Very Bad Person Per the Unrelenting Voice in My Head, and another in which I was in some way responsible for the war in Bosnia Herzegovina. (Detailed here. I was convinced I was responsible for that conflict. I just couldn’t put my finger on exactly why. I knew it in the very core of my soul, though. I mean Wikipedia would disagree about my involvement, but I knew the truth. )

    So first depression, hearing voices and guilt, second depression, inserting myself into European wars and guilt. Yesterday it occurred to me that maybe I’m having another delusional depression. A guilt-free depression though: I am notably, exceptionally blameless in this one.

    And they did cut my MS meds in half in January, so it makes sense that my brain chemistry is off.

    I am going with that until Friday, when I meet with the physician’s assistant. He may well say, “Memories do weird stuff sometimes.” I really hope I’m depressed though, otherwise I have no idea what reality is.

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  • Eye contact: the best part of the on-site

    Two teams have merged and I have a new co-worker who shares some of my personality traits. She speaks up about the brutal truths. Of course she prefaces them with a prologue about how we’re all working toward the same goal, she means it with the greatest respect, blah, but still the same honesty.

    We were in entirely different rows on different sides of the auditorium when the speaker mentioned the importance of speaking the truth. We both simultaneously swiveled, looked for each other, made eye contact, nodded, and went back to listening to the presentation.

    It’s especially nice that someone sees me as honest while my memory seems to be lying to me.

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  • TWIL: New version of Cape Fear

    I managed to avoid watching the 1962 film version of Cape Fear by hiding in my Mom’s womb. Once I was out I continued avoiding it until a few years ago, when I saw it as a part of our Film Noir binge.

    Then there was the 1991 remake by Martin Scorsese. I read it was more brutal, more violent, and I don’t know if there were any raw eggs in it, but the ads creeped me out so much that I couldn’t imagine seeing it.

    So now I have learned that there’s another remake coming out in June on Apple TV. Child rape and bullying for the 21st century.

    I know I’m giving off grandma vibes about You Kids Today, but every thirty years we have to put up with this? Really?

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  • A second chance at Choir! Choir! Choir!

    Remember the Choir! Choir! Choir concert I passed up in February because it was in a sketchy neighborhood? There’s another one December 17 in the entertainment distict in Chicago. Hotel right next door! Obama museum open! December in Chicago! Woo!

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  • The “end” of the underwear box saga …

    My room is small and is easily cluttered, so everything on the desk has to earn its place, and the underwear box had lost its novelty.

    I was tossing it in the trash when I saw this on the back.

    Underwear box has earned his keep and lives on another day.

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  • Weekly Paint Progress: 5/7/2026

    Well, the remaining errors stared me in the face and I realized I had to correct them. The bottom left and right of the lampshade have always been wrong and the size and slant of the glow on the wall was wrong.

    So this is the previous …

    This is the progress …

    And this is the goal.

    D45CE5FA-2C6B-42E6-8576-34A7FC25443B

    It doesn’t look like I spent an hour on that wall glow. It looks just the same. And I tell myself that wall will dry darker. it So I am done, really.

    Pink Ball pitcher of peonies is next, or maybe the floating buffalo.

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  • I don’t know how to respond to that

    Things have been quiet here at the house. I think I said two sentences to Gary today, both regarding imminent house maintenance work.

    Neither sentence was hostile. This is what I call progress.

    A few weeks ago he complained about his health, and I knew:

    • If I was sympathetic he’d snap “Don’t condescend to me!”
    • If I wasn’t sympathetic then he’d say I was heartless.

    So I said, “I don’t know how to respond to that.”

    Met with “WHO SAYS SOMETHING LIKE THAT TO A SICK PERSON WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU,” plus accusations that I was being contolled by the counselor.

    Of course, time has passed and now it’s our go-to phrase.

    “Where did you put the scissors?”

    ”I don’t know how to respond to that.”

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  • Shout outs

    Today was another one of our required attendance days at the office. Again, I got to see fifty people in person whom I haven’t been with for ages. It’s usually very gratifying and I feel seen.

    This time I felt far too seen.

    • A leader remembered an exchange on her first day when I groused that I hoped she’d last longer than six months.
    • People laughed and agreed this was very on-brand for me.
    • Others remembered when I refused to speak to them until they passed their licensing exam.

    All these things are true. Had it stopped there I might have been fine. But then on break, a well-meaning person said they watched my face exhibit the five stages of grief when when a presenter suggested there would be a change in how we construct user objectives.

    I tipped past “I feel seen” to “I feel overexposed.” It seems hard to believe … but I think I hit maximum attention overload.

    I have a limit! Good to know.

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  • Baby steps in Gary’s health

    Well, directly after our physical two weeks ago Gary scoffed at the GP’s recommendation that Gary see the dermatologist again. Maddening.

    Just a few days ago he said he’d go back to the dermatologist, then ten minutes later he revoked that, then ten minutes later reversed his revocation, then started to take it back again and then I put my hands over my mouth and screamed. So now he has a dermatologist appointment in August.

    I’m going to sit in on that appointment. This doctor doesn’t use MyChart so I have to take Gary’s word on what was said. And sometimes Gary doesn’t use his words.

    For example, he gave me a Post-it last night, and he peeled off an old Post-it which said “Rinvoq.”

    ”What’s Rinvoq?” I said.

    ”Oh, that’s the drug the dermatologist wanted me to take last year.”

    Oh WAS IT? News to me. He certainly didn’t mention it.

    Off to the Internet. It sounds like Rinvoq is what you get when they want to skip the diagnosis part. I swear, if he actually got a drug recommendation a year ago and didn’t act on it … I just … I don’t know what I’ll do.

    But here’s my favorite partz. Look at all the things Rinvoq treats. What’s at the bottom of the list?


    Giant Cell Arteritis (GCA). There are five references on this blog to Giant Cell Arteritis dating back fifteen years. It is the diagfauxsis of choice. I really don’t want it to be that.

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  • TWIL: Confabulation

    Confabulation, per Wikipedia: a memory error consisting of the production of fabricated, distorted, or misinterpreted memories about oneself or the world. It is generally associated with certain types of brain damage.

    It’s called “honest lying” because the memory is there — it just shouldn’t be. It troubles me for two reasons.

    Gary has been showing some possible evidence of this. He and I had a stupid argument in which he insisted our tea towels came from Williams Sonoma, he remembered details of the visit, things the salesperson said, and how we disagreed on the color. I then showed him where there is a Pottery Barn label stitched into the hem of the tea towel that we bought online, and just broke his mind. Then there were two other occasions when similar things happened.

    But now I’ve shown some evidence of this during this past week. There are conversations that I remember, in detail, and it turns out those conversations absolutely could not have happened with those participants at that time. At all. Impossible. Yet there it is in my head as if it happened yesterday. (And, may I say, no boring tea towel nonsense. I really shone during these conversations. I win all the annual Confabulation Screenplay Awards.)

    Happily, neither of us has the other six warning signs of early dementia. Still, I contacted the neurologist’s office, and they tossed me to a psychiatric counselor, and she’s going to ask the doctor.

    I just have this sickening sensation encompassing my heart and gut that says, “This is step one of dementia, and the others will come next, and then both of us will die squabbling over our differing delusions.”

    4 comments on TWIL: Confabulation
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