Suzanne Somers, Wizards, and Birthdays

I don't know if the line you are much more of an idiot this year than last year will change what I decide or that I have forgotten how to mentally do math in my head or to spell or to answer all the entertainment trivia I could spew out at a moment's notice. Have I researched it all to find that it comes back to something more scary, more sinister, more lethal. I have not been able to broach that subject yet, too tired, too weary,but perhaps I should before my options close. Alzheimer's, dementia, horrible, horrible names for diseases that take away all that makes you a person of some worth to the world, to your family.
Tomorrow is my birthday, a good day for resolutions. I am tired of this sniveling, complaining, egocentric contemplations of maladies, real or imaginary, done, done, done.
It will be a year soon that I have begun my mediocre odyssey of medications, specialists, wizardry, tests, more medications, to find myself. The scarecrow a chemically numb, definitely dumb, fifty-three year old, who has lost her heart, her brain, her home...