Well, look what happened. Instead of writing morning pages, I had morning drama. Ted was being distant, I felt sure he was seeing his ex Wednesday night and since then he's not sure about him and me.

I was busy today doing the text for the website, but happy to be busy. Not crazy busy either, just had something to do that took me all day and was creative but not entirely my generation.

I just realized how many little things I forgot today. I hate my shrink today because I feel like an idiot, like I do everything wrong. She thinks I make a fool of myself all the time, which is only partially true - only partially true that she thinks it, only partially true that it's true.

"I believe in the moon," she told me.

"Of course you believe in the moon," I told her. "The moon is real, it exists." It annoyed me so much.

"I believe in the goddess," she told me, and I said, "Yeah, I'm right here."

My first therapist, Judith, who I met when I was 25, did not have an organic brain disorder for the first fourteen years of our relationship. Then she developed rapid onset dementia. By the time I stopped seeing her three years later, she was unrecognizable.

Thing I tried: Cleaning the house myself

Report: After the extreme cleaner delivered his extreme letdown, I abandoned the idea of hiring a cleaning service and decided to do it myself.

Thing I Tried: Hiring a heavy-duty cleaner who specialized in hoarding situations

Report: I went looking for a heavy-duty cleaner on a site for “adult children of hoarders.” (Ed. note: This oxymoron, “adult child,” is the aptest description of me.)

Thing I Tried: Getting my mother medical attention

Report: The most important item on my agenda was getting my mother back on the medication for her Multiple Sclerosis. She agreed—she really wanted to be less dizzy and more mobile. Yet she stalled at every turn.

Thing I Tried: Reported my mother as an endangered senior citizen to Adult Protective Services of New York, the state agency in charge of ensuring the welfare and safety of elderly and otherwise vulnerable adults.

I could barely understand her fifth husband, a schizophrenic, through his weeping when he called to tell me my mother died. “She fell…the ambulance came…they didn’t use the defibrulator! I kept yelling, use the defibrulator!”