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December 23, 2019
He’s losing it. I am too, but he’s worse than me. I let things slide; I don’t bother with cleaning or tidying. Clothes, mail and other items fall on the floor until I need them again. Why bother putting things away when there’s just me here? But he shows all the signs of the solitary man really losing the balance. He saves everything. The coloured foil tops to wine bottles. Whisky boxes. Corks. Even the cardboard ad “necklaces” from his wine: in a neat stack, on the table. The solitary older male becomes peculiar. We become “that weird old guy”.