Caretaker

She’s asleep. We can talk for a moment.
It’s not as though I resent taking care of her, far from it. I know all the good people do in their lives should afford them some comforts as the years of their lives dwindle to an end. They need help and that is all I ever wanted to do - help.
It’s tough, though. Definitely not for everybody. It’s thankless a lot of times. They just don’t recognize you and act like you’re trying to hurt them. That moment of fear in their eyes is just heartbreaking. They struggle, too, and it’s all you can do just to keep them from hurting themselves. They just don’t know any better and talking is useless. And, of course, the fluids. Ugh, the rot within the human body is enough to put you off food for good.
But it’s like I said, I don’t resent them. That would be like getting angry at the weather - it just doesn’t do anybody any kind of good. The best you can do is just buck up and smile through it. Ya do it for a cause bigger than yourself and everybody else can go to hell, ya know? I’m doing good deeds and that’s enough for me.
I do go on, don’t I? Just excited to be talking to people, I suppose. Anyway, you’re here to check on your ex-wife, right? Well, no worries, I caught her with minimal fuss. Hardly any damage at all. She’s sedated so you can do as you like, but you might want to say your goodbyes; I don’t think she’ll last another week. She’s too popular. The pretty ones never last long.
Category:Mental Illness
Category:Historical Archive
Category:Micropasta