On behalf of the dim

The Counter-Enlightenment

Apparently Ukraine started the war. I don't know how, as Russia invaded it. 

But they did. Donald Trump said.

They're not allowed to negotiate the peace either. That can only take place between Russia and America. 

And Russia must be compensated by having all of its terms met BEFORE the negotiations take place. So it gets its territory (which historically was its, back in the bleh... century) and Ukraine can't join NATO.

That'll serve Ukraine right and teach it not to be a VICTIM again!

We stand with the strong men of the world! 

Trump's face will be carved into Mount Rushmore!

People loyal to THE PRESIDENT will replace those whose were merely loyal to the constitution!

Every podcast is out of date the moment it's broadcast as more and more insane shit is introduced by the US govt.

This is a deliberate tactic.

Trump is asked questions about his various secretaries of state and their actions, and doesn't even know what they've done or are doing.

That's not his job!

That's Elon's!

Trump's job is to play golf and to sign shit with his Sharpie.

This is democracy in action! 

All Hail the President!!

Is he going to be vulgar again, Deirdre? 

You know? Like last time...

Well to all the Deirdres out there, I do have Frontotemporal Dementia (Behavioural Variant) and this isn't the 1950s, but I will be more sensible and boring as I know the general public prefers it. 

And my key demographic is the middle-aged and intelligent, anodyne as that may be.

After all, in keeping with other dementia sufferers, one's accompanying blog about one's life as a demented must be wholesome and pure.

I'm supposed to talk about flowers, and spring (everyone forgets in the UK that the weather is shite until April) and birdsong, animals, walks in nature and beautiful loveliness.

And also my ever-loving care-partner, who I don't have. This bit only just occurred to me, as an autonomous dementia-bot - that I don't have a significant other.

Most other dementia bloggers tend to still be in relationships. I'm well-aware dementia puts a huge strain on relationships and many people split apart as the behaviour of the dementia sufferer goes un-diagnosed for years and can create antipathy and resentment.

Obviously I can get away without having a carer at the moment. 

My plan, when shit sucks, is to jump off a cliff.

It may never reach that point as one's lived experience in the present is 'well, I'm still okay', even when you've lost all your friends and are - at that moment - being arrested for trying to have sex with a large display of canned soups in a local Asda.

I imagine that the urge to remain alive is a strong one even when you're full on mad/demented.

I thought once I can no longer read, or run or play a D&D game anymore - with that being my raison d'être these days - what would be the point?

And I'll probably then say - ah, but I still appreciate music, ...and so on and so forth until I run out of interests and hobbies and all the other things that make me ME, until I'm reduced to basic bodily functions and wearing a nappy.. 

And the cliff thing - I'm a coward, so I probably won't do that.

Mind you, the world may not last that long the way things are going...

Balancing the booze

I managed to disgust myself sufficiently into stopping drinking or rather, cutting down to 4 beers a week. My stomach was that of the famous pregnant man from that early 70s advertisment.

Famous pregnant man advert

Self-disgust is an excellent in-built emergency brake and u-turn. A kill-switch if ever there was.

I looked at my once Apollonian frame in its naked glory in the mirror. Sagging everything, a retreated winkle too ashamed to show his once true majesty, Blackadder legs and a bloated potbelly. 

I look like some ancient toad. 

Me, naked. The other day.

It's puketastically bad. Bad enough for me to eschew the booze and walk a bit more, watch my diet and increase the vegetables.

I blame my parents who made me eat a ton of veg when I was a kid but now eat hardly any themselves. 

Okay, okay - I shall take charge of the cooking.

It will take 2-3 months and more exercise to get to my ideal weight / belt notch. It always does when I get to this stage. But I am fatter than I've ever been.

You need to see me in the flesh to see how revolting I truly am.

I already feel better since cutting down alcohol and walking more.

Full-frontal nudity here we come!