The days stretch into an endless haze.
I no longer know my own name, but refer to myself in the same way the natives do. I've lost my identity - and when I say that, I can only think of SpongeBob and the episode where he has his shirt on backwards and thinks he lost his identity. I think it's something like that. Though I don't know what's more worrisome - that I immediately reference a cartoon, or that my statement actually makes sense to me. I know I am still me, but the part that used to be able to converse coherently and logically has been shoved aside with the endless repetition.
"Please stop making that noise." "Please stop." "That noise needs to go away and never come back." "No, I did not say be careful draining the hot tub. I said, be careful while I'm draining the pasta. We don't even have a hot tub." "I did not say you had fleas. I said, look in the freezer for the peas." "Please stop making that noise." "I said nothing about putting in a pool. I said, look out for the dog's drool." "Please stop making that noise."
Today, we ventured to the provision supplier. The entire way through, I was treated to endless discussion that frequently required intervention from myself, though I am sure I speak a version of dialect they cannot comprehend. I sometimes wonder if it's me, or them. Perhaps they're the ones that have lost their grip on reality?
There is a possibility of a little relief on the horizon. I hold onto this notion with everything I have. One on hand hoping, and on the other, knowing.