Tired

After reading Matt's latest blog entry I decided to follow his lead and list the things I'm tired of right now:

• Spending all of my time at school working on the yearbook instead of classwork


• Working on yearbook after school until 11:00 every day


• Yearbooks


• Layouts


• Photos


• Pages


• Printers


• Laser Toner


• Being single


• Liking someone, not knowing if they like me as well


• Not having time to hang out with my friends


• Not having time to meet new people


• Not having time to visit with my family


• Not having time to play video games


• Being dependable


• Driving to school


• Being late to school


• I know there's more, but I can't think of what it is right now.

On Mother's day I went to lunch with my parents and grandparents. We met my dad's parents in Ennis (Dallas was too far for them to drive) and ate at Chili's. Normally, Mother's day is a happy day full of family togetherness, but the only thing I felt that day was depression. It started when my grandfather slowly got out of the car, stood up in front of my dad, his son, and introduced himself.

"Hi there, nice to meet you. I'm Dr. Gibson. What's your name?"

My grandmother laughed and responded for my dad.

"That's Dr. Gibson."

My dad looked as if his heart had suddenly taken the form of an anvil or some other heavy object. I thought I was going to cry, I felt so bad for him. The rest of the meal I sat and watched as more and more indications that my grandfather no longer existed unpleasantly presented themselves. My grandfather introduced himself to my dad two more times before the end of the meal, forgot where he was and what he was doing three times while leaving the restaraunt, and forgot he had even eaten a meal at all right after he finished his plate. Any time there wasn't food in front of him to be eaten, he just sat in his seat with a confused and vacant expression on his face, like he was somewhere in his mind, searching for any kind of memory, but repeatedly coming up empty-handed. I find it really depressing that there's not even a trace of his personality left. I really hope that my dad never forgets who I am, but it seems inevitable. I already see evidence that his mind it deteriorating. He's become very scatterbrained this past year, forgetting a lot of things and just not able to think as clearly. He tried to tell our housekeeper the other day that I was twenty. She corrected him, but he didn't believe her. An even scarier thought, though, is the day that I begin to loose my mind. I suppose it has to happen to all of us eventually.