It looks like we’ve climbed aboard the ability roulette game.

It’s different than the slow rollercoaster of good days and bad days because only specific tasks are affected. He can be having a great day, relaxed and aware and then hours later, I find something he’d done that leaves me scratching my head muttering WTF to myself.

He usually runs the dishwasher while I’m at work. Every once in a while, after he  empties the dishwasher, I have to go on a search mission before I can set the table. Everyday items haven’t been put away where they are supposed to be. Then, the next time he emptied the dishwasher, it’s either perfect or it’s something else that has been completely misplaced. (Note – when I moved in with Jim, everything already had it’s place and he preferred not to rearrange the kitchen. Everything is still stored in the same place it has been for decades – it’s his old memories that are playing roulette)

Logging in to his laptop has become a game of peek a boo with his brain. Last Friday, Jim tried to sign into online banking to pay bills and couldn’t log in.  By the time I got home, he was so flustered he couldn’t even remember how to log in to his laptop, let alone his bank account. (He didn’t recognize the sign in screen or any of the icons on his desktop. He insisted that it had all changed – must have been one of those damn updates)

Yet, this Friday, when there was another bill to pay, he logged in easily. He paid his bill in record time and had forgotten all about his difficulty the week before.

These little hiccups have me feeling like we’re spinning on a roulette table, or standing in front of a six-shooter loaded with one bullet. It’s a crap shoot to know where he’s going to be affected next.