I'm tired. I open the door to Mrs K's room. Surprise, I'm still tired.
I'm so tired.
I'm so tired.
I'm so tired and she will ask about the time.
I Turn on the Bright Lights. The air stinks, and we, both Mrs K and I, know it. Okay, maybe she doesn't. But I do. “Good morning”, I say in a demotivated tone that doesn't even closely come to that of a good morning good morning good morning...
Trent's music is rushing through my head. The same parts keep repeating.
Mrs K is now giving me a confused look. Gotta tell her everything, like every morning of every day. “Hey Mrs K, wake up, we want to wash ourselves now” I tell her, smiling. I use the royal “we” so I don't get into trouble with management when giving Mrs K an informal “you”. English people don't have that problem. But we're not speaking English here... I mean, we are apparently, but... ah, for fuck's sake. I can't think a straight line.
Mrs K is now going to ask about the time.
“What time is it”, she asks.
“Quarter past seven.”, I answer.
Needless to say I already knew the answer.
“But I've never been woken up that early!”
She's always been woken up that early. I want to punch her in the
face but then I remember that this woman is demented. It's not her
fault. I sigh and try to remain friendly.
I help Mrs K with putting on her shoes and we both go to the bathroom. I prepare her toothbrush. The toothpaste tube's cap is broken, but it had always been this way. I love to smear the damn toothpaste all over my fingers. Meanwhile, Mrs K decides she has to take a piss. Okay. I exit the bathroom, I ventilate her main room. I being to make the bed, it's still warm. Shouting from the bathroom: “W-where are you?”
I'm here.
I'm here!
I'M HERE. PLEASE WAIT A SECOND.
I enter the bathroom.
K didn't flush the toilet, that's why I do it on my own.
It's twenty past seven. I hand Mrs KKK her toothbrush. She gives me a confused look. I stare back to her. She laughs. Normally, that's a good thing. But Mrs K always laughs. It isn't a friendly laugh. It's a spacey laugh. What did she flip? Right, dementia.
Mrs K finally begins to clean her damn teeth. Good girl.
Gone Girl. David Fincher rocks. The soundtrack also rocks. Shit,
we're talking about Trent Reznor again. And Atticus Ross.
Let's not forget Atticus Ross, for fuck's sake!
Mrs K is finally done with her teeth.
“Would you now please take off your nightdress, Mrs K?”
“What do you want me to?”
(I must have been too quiet.)
“Would you now please take off your nightdress,
Mrs K?”
“I'm sorry... I just can't understand you.
It dins too much in this small room.”
Probably the first time she's right. Except for all the
other times Mrs K told me this.
“NIGHTDRESS.”
Spacey laugh. She takes off her nightdress. Finally. Sometimes, it
feels as if I'm playing a shitty programmed text adventure.
“I'll now wash your back, is that okay?” What an unnecessary question. I start washing her back. Everytime I start washing her back, Mrs K starts coughing. This is driving me insane. I want to punch her in the face but then I remember that this woman is demented. It's not her fault. I sigh and try to remain friendly.
Done.
“Please wash your arms now.” I hand her the washcloth.
If I didn't hand the washcloth, she would just put both her arms
into the water. We've been through this.
“You know, when I was in the hospital, I've already been up in the sky, together with my man.” I know. But this time, I'm in for a little provocation. “And, did it feel good up there?” Yes, it did. “And what did you do up there?” She doesn't know. I don't know either.
I ask Mrs K to take a seat... which she eventually does. I've already put a towel on top of the seat so she won't complain about a cold arse. It's not her problem that there will be some faeces later on the towel. It also isn't mine and don't think management would give any fuck about that. But I'll clean it. I'm a good person. Look at how good I am.
Suddenly, Mrs K sneezes. Wait. This is not part of the morning routine.
Mrs K sneezes again.
Sneezes again.
Sneezes again.
Sneezes again.
Sneezes again.
Sneezes again.
Sneezes again.
Sneezes again.
Sneezes again.
Sneezes again.
Sneezes again.
Sneezes again.
There's no way I'm not infected by now. Time
for some damage containment. I open the window. It's fucking cold
outside. Outside air and inside air swap sides.
“Wait, what are you doing? You want to kill me?”
“Well... in that case you're at least going to meet your man
again up there in the sky”, I mumble.
Now, it's time to take care of the feet. Every time I doff her socks, K tells me that these socks are special because they're only meant to be worn in bed. I want to punch her in the face but then I remember that this woman is demented. It's not her fault. I sigh and try to remain friendly. And I wonder if someone working here even feels slightly responsible to wash her socks. I bet the morning shift people think the evening guys will take care of that and vice-versa.
Spacey.
Laugh.
Hahaha.
Done, again. We go into the main room and Mrs K begins dressing herself. I clean the bathroom and try to remove the shit stains from her towel.
I exit the room, already hyped for the next day which will be exactly the same.