Going anywhere is excruciatingly these days.

Jim has always been the guy who said that he’d rather be two hours early than two minutes late.

Even though I hate being late as well, he used to get impatient with me because when he said he wanted to leave at 8, he meant be in the car, pulling out of the driveway by 8. Whereas I considered the goal of leaving by 8 was to be downstairs putting my coat on. It took us a while, but we got it together. 

These days, He moves at a snail’s pace. On a bad day, his pace makes a snail look like a Usain Bolt.

I really hate feeling like I’m constantly impatient with him. I hope that I mask my frustration enough to ensure he doesn’t feel rushed but then I get angry at myself for being frustrated because I know he’s not doing this on purpose. In fact, he is so worried about being a bother that he distracts himself and everything seems to take twice as long to accomplish.

The saving grace here is that he doesn’t understand how pervasive his limitations are. He knows his memory sucks and I think deep down he recognizes that he’s not operating at the same level as he used to. To make himself feel less useless, he blames computer updates or other external changes for his lapses. I’m sure he’s trying to ensure I don’t figure out how incompetent he’s become.

Losing my mental faculties is my greatest fear. I can’t imagine being in his shoes.

Knowing this helps me to slow down and work at his speed as I hope someone will do for me someday.