DEMENTIA CARE: NO, YOU CAN SHOOT THE PIANO PLAYER.

Yes, I am earlobe-deep in changes around here. So many changes that I don't have the time to document every mad dash or catalogue the days at rest.

I run around like a soldier ant with a rocket up its arse, and roller skates on all those feet.
   But fear not. I make the time to take it easy. Have to. That's the nature of the job when you're a carer. Rest, and burst into action at a moment's notice...
   Do rest, mind.
   And body.
   Then discover yourself battling along a cluttered road of random responsibilities and possibilities. You rest, then explode into action as a firework that takes a long time to plummet from the night sky.
   Inaction is a pool. Calm. Action is the rock hurled in there. Ripples are the actions that follow the great waves.
   Yes, I rest. Then I get down to it and don't stop. I'm on the go and on the go and on the go.

So.
   I pause for a moment and detest this one fucking thing. It's difficult to have the TV on with an advert for anything related to dementia...
   The TV plays music, almost non-stop. Adverts intrude. And here's a dementia-sufferer watching an ad about dementia, with the carer looking on.
   How much of that does the cared-for take in? The dementia prevents her from taking in the fact that she has dementia. Memory problems destroy the ability to remember that you have memory problems.
   Not true for everyone. True for this one.

I watch the appeal for interest, for help, for financial aid, for your attention, basically. And I think to myself...

Listen, pal. I agree that it's a good cause. And anything that can help, even in the slightest way, is a good thing. But I am a dementia assistant myself. A carer.
   And frankly, old bean, the last fucking thing I need to hear, underscoring your Alzheimer's-related advert, is music to slit your fucking wrists by.
   Can you not make an advert that does away with the heavy plod of the very sad fucking piano?
   In the time it took me to watch your tragic mini-movie, three fragile puppies died just for having been in saddening earshot of your utterly fucking depressing advert that was grimly made depressing by the truly sad piano music of depressiveness, over at Depressed Studios in Sadtown by the Gloomy Sea.

I wonder who composed the music.
   Not for my interest in it or over any curiosity concerning the writer behind the mood-piece. No. I want to kick the sad fucker's door down and brush his teeth with a half-brick.

It's okay to shoot the piano player.
   And it's more than okay for the carer to not care about the advert that's meant to make everyone care. Too busy caring for a person, to then care about an advert related to caring for people? Be human about that.
   In being human about that, I must say...I don't have to care about an Alzheimer's advert and its sad piano. Excuse me, while I dust down this broken brick of a toothbrush.