Tuesday, 28 September 2010

Shouting at Windmills

I say things to Mr Spanner, but they don't seem to register. I repeat myself and, if he's feeling communicative, he repeats them back to me. Sometimes he makes a positive noise; "Oh, right!" "Yes!" "OK, darling". Sometimes, he even convinces me that he has understood. Sometimes he just grunts one of the stock positive replies and I know he hasn't taken in a word I've said. The trouble with Swiss cheese brains, is that one day they grasp something, and the next day it's gone. I think he compensates for it by pretending to follow everything, and hoping he'll make sense of it later.

Sometimes, he simply doesn't respond, when I talk to him. He's in his own little world. I have a fridge magnet that says "I'm on my own planet, but don't worry, they know me here!"

I find it incredibly frustrating to try to communicate with the un-communicable. It's like effing the ineffable, or maybe like trying to nail jelly to the wall.

Last week, I found myself yelling about apple sauce. Why? Surely life is too short? There was a problem with the usage of sauce and I felt the need to explain something I'd explained half a dozen times before. This time I ended up doing it at high volume.

What is the maximum number of times required, to explain the same thing over and over again before blowing? How many times? I want to know. At what point am I justified in screaming about apple sauce? Or any of the other myriad frustrations that I wouldn't have if Mr Spanner wasn't, you know, Swiss cheese?

Why can't I have infinite patience and far lower blood pressure?

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