The domestic helper who's taking care of my grandparents is a saint. She must be inherently amazing for being able to take care of them 24/7 AND do the laundry. I feel bad for her.
In fact, anyone who's able to take care of the senile is worthy of our respect. (Personally, an hour trying — vainly — to engage in meaningful conversation has a very debilitating effect on me.)
Like I said, I need to die young. Preferably heroically, in NS, or in a shower of sparks over the Atlantic Ocean in a tragic airplane explosion, or as a human shield in Palestine. Old age is more frustrating (for all parties involved) than that insipid sepia-tone Werther's Original commercial. It's Grandpa Simpson-esque without the comedy. If any, the laughter is bitter.
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