See, I love organizing bookshelves too. The problem here is not organizing the bookshelves. The problem is that I have neither the time nor space nor ability to organize them properly. The collection needs to be weeded - we have no need for EIGHT Kennedy biographies. We just don’t. Or for a 1997 guide to California RV parks. It’s just that Dad is so emotionally fragile that he freaks when he sees us messing with the books. He’s convinced his special books have gone missing.
Still, I got my books up with minimum hassle. One of the shelves of the homemade bookcase has major cracks in it - because Dad bought really crappy pine planks to make the shelves with. So, it can only hold paperbacks. There’s still a ton of organizing to be done, and furniture will be moved, because we got me a desk so I can actually do my thing here without having to rearrange the world to get to it.
Dad is . . . hmmm. He saw his internist yesterday, took the memory test, and flunked it. Doctor is notifying the DMV to pull his license. Dad has no memory of the doctor saying he can’t drive anymore. So, we’ve hidden the car keys, and if he starts looking for them, we offer to take him anywhere he wants to go. In the meantime, if I’m home, I park my car behind his, so he can’t sneak out.
We have a parade of health professionals marching through. Physical therapy, home health nurse, and more to come. Dad has mostly been in a good mood, but Mom’s been around. Today’s his first day out of the hospital (which he doesn’t remember going to) without Mom being around. So, he’s already snarled at me. sigh
Also, he doesn’t remember having any memory problems. The meta of that statement caused a crater to open up in a small Guatamalan village.
I went to the dentist and got clucked over. Three new cavities in the space of six months. Yet, no one shook a finger at me, because they all know what’s been going on.
I tutor tonight. In the meantime, I’m running laundry, organizing the library/office, and trying to keep Dad out of trouble.