Yesterday was the memorial mass for my grandmother. A lay minister comes to the nursing home because so many people can't leave, and I took Communion for the first time in my life, because I thought it would be more rude to refuse it. I was also surprised I remember a little over two verses of "Silent Night" and the entirety of Our Father. I crossed myself a few times, by some weird reflex, remembering when I played that Irish Catholic woman in a play in high school, and had to cross myself all the time, until the rest of the cast agreed I looked like I knew what I was doing.
Later, at the luncheon, my step-grandfather kept asking where my grandmother was. "In heaven," someone would say, and then he would say, "I forgot," and cry. This happened a few times.
Remember that year I was dumped on Thanksgiving and my grandmother died at Christmas? Pat suggested that Charlie Kaufman is writing my life.
I am happiest when I am: buying new clothes for my shrinking body, petting my cat, watching Mad Men, or reading. By happiest I mean at my most amnesiac. I've finished the following books in the last week:
Another Bullshit Night in Suck City
Anne Frank: The Book, The Life, The Afterlife
I Remember Nothing