Ballbuster

Update today on Grandma: Turns out when we went to see her this afternoon, she didn't go to therapy. That's the entire point of being there. She was in her pajamas, asleep in a chair. My Mom made her change and marched her down there and made her do stuff.
Her therapist is really nice. My Mom mentioned that I had just graduated. "High school?" she asked.
Damn, if only. "No, I just finished up at Michigan State."
I have maintained for a long time that I look younger than I am. When I was in the seventh grade, one nasty piece-of-work eighth grader asked me if I was seven. Even now, I think I easily pass for much younger. When I mentioned this once to Dan, he disagreed with me (in a rare change up for him, it was one of the least diplomatic things he's ever said to me. International relations could use someone like him.) But ha, I'm right, case closed. Even a therapist says so.
But I digress. What's really heartbreaking is how my Grandma has basically given up the will to live. She doesn't want to do anything anymore, even the simple important stuff, like combing your hair or eating or walking. She fought with the therapist the entire time about walking with a walker and using a bike to exercise. At one point, she put her head down and cried. I've never seen her cry. Even when her husband died, her reaction was to be a pain in everyone's ass, take cold medication, harass her godson about his hair follicle situation and yell at her husband's corpse every chance she got.
The therapist asked what she was like when she was younger. "A ballbuster," I thought. I remember her being really harsh, and supposedly, I was a favorite and she softened as she got older. I can only imagine how difficult she was when she was at her prime.
I realized in October that this is one of the few good things about her dementia: it's erased ninety percent of her personality. She's still difficult sometimes, but in sort of a passive way. She just doesn't do whatever you asked her to do, but if you try to have a conversation with her, she'll sort of just tell you what you want to hear and keep on doing whatever. Before, she'd yell and carry on and actively try to make things harder on you. The whole passive thing is frustrating in its own way, but at least you don't get sworn at. In more than one language.
I find myself really annoyed with this whole thing, and then I feel bad because I've done pretty much nothing to help. Not because I didn't want to, mind, but because I was up at school dealing with at least seven other problems, most of them interpersonal. Which is also why I feel guilty about living at home again. I feel like my Mom would really appreciate me not being a layabout. If I was gone, she could at least delude herself into thinking I was being successful.
Also, my Grandma has a roommate at this place, and she irks me even more. The woman plays her tv SO LOUD. Like, it even gives me a headache, and I'm not the kind for headaches and am one of those teenagers who blasted their ears with the likes of Nirvana, AFI, and Alkaline Trio. The hell if I can hear. I would like to read my science book in peace without being distracted by some irritating design show about people with stupid condos who are way overpriced.

Almost Done...

Paper update: More editing today. Of all three papers.
Teresa of Avila paper: Attempted to rework the thesis. Still sucky, but less sucky than it previously was. Professor will probably hate this paper, and not without reason, but maybe this time he won't call the writing sloppy. I suspect it'll still be better than some of the other papers in the class.
Matilda of Tuscany: Kelly read and loved it and thought it flowed well. It's okay. I feel like much of the paper is "evidence dump," by which I mean there's tons of evidence but not quite enough analyzing. Still, it's better than the Teresa paper. It's a little short length wise, but this professor loves me, so hopefully, it'll pass. Plus, I pwned the essay exam last week. I should be doing well.
Thesis: God almighty, where to begin? At this point, I think this was the worst idea ever. There's way too much info. And it's such a boring paper. 24 pages of close readings, particularly feminist and colonial interpretations. Counting appendix and bibliography, we're talking 43 pages. This one's going to cost me to print out at the computer lab. My thesis adviser is a tough grader; I'm probably in trouble.
God, what I hate most about this is that nothing is ever good enough for me. I would feel less bad about my raging perfectionism right now if what I wrote was great, but it's only so-so.
Tomorrow, my plans are to turn in papers, maybe hang with some people (like my fav professors and friends,) read outside (David Sedaris, Dave Eggers, maybe Louise Rennison), and go to the bar with Erin.
But seriously, people, do me a favor, and pray for me over these papers. Going to need it.