Closing up the little kiddie gate on the stairs (the kind with the bolt that stops kids getting through and falling down the stairs) a thought struck me. These doors were made so old people couldn’t get off their floor, and unlike children they didn’t have parents to take them out. For most of these people, they would live out their last days confined to the same floor in this big house. It’s a strange concept when you put it in these words but it’s a strange reality, for those with degenerative mental conditions this little floor could seem like the whole world to them. Sure I’m being a little dramatic and seem to be basing this all on that strange movie about the girl stuck in a room.
Some lovely anecdotes from the evening.
I’m 98% sure that one of the more lucid seeming woman is actually a psychopath and has some strange underlying problem that I can’t seem to see. There’s this lovely little poppet who always says hi, makes a lovely joke and then chats a little with me. I never thought it was very strange, she was just friendly to strangers. There’s been signs though, today randomly she decides to sit at a table on her own. For the last few weeks I’ve been convinced she’s a vegetarian, she’s made me pick the chicken off her pizza before once, but today she asks for a lamb moussaka and doesn’t even flinch when I tell her it’s got meat. She’s also gotten really angry recently telling me where I can shove my little milk pots and where Bob’s stroller should go. I really hope she gets back to normal soon, I miss the old Margaret.