(no subject)

It's wierd to think that today is our last real day here. We're being picked up around 5 in the morning on Thursday or so to get to Heathrow. I approach this pick up with mixed relief and regret. It'll be nice to be home and not have to worry about every last penny anymore, but I wish I could have enjoyed London without that worry at all.

I'm worried for my grandmother. I've been arguing with her for almost the entire trip; always about things that have to do with memory. She actually asked me if I met my cousin Eddie; she's got pictures with me and him together on her wall at home. On Saturday, when we took the tour and she lost her wallets in the morning, she kept insisting that she'd lost them on Friday. She keeps asking me if I "eat" certain things that she knows I like - fruits, sandwiches, chicken - and keeps offering things she knows I don't like - steak, for instance. And she's been repeating the same storys - which she's done for a while now - but she's been repeating ones that she told me in the morning. I don't know what to do, other than tell my parents. She was always so sharp ... now I'm scared for her.

That's why I give everyone permission to shoot me the minute I turn forty, by the way. I don't want to wind up like that.