It’s almost 11am, Sunday. I am having difficulties with deciding what to do with myself. I have 4 eggs and some bread but apart from that no other food and shops are closed on Sundays. I’d really like some fruit.
I need to prepare for the investigation that is tomorrow morning and I’m really dreading it. I don’t want to read all those letters again, that are proofs that we were being ignored for so long. The complaint that had it subject changed from ‘money missing from the account’ into ‘poor customer service’, the fact that bank instead of informing the police asked the employee who was stealing what they have to say to our complaint. But again, there’s no one else to do that so it has to be me.
Weather is nice again but for now I didn’t leave the building other than to the kitchen to get milk for coffee and then to put it back. I suppose that is an autistic thing, problem with transition. Even though yesterday I managed to have such a nice day by being out a lot it’s not a motivation to go out again today.
I will get up at some point, I promise.
But at least I fully accepted the fact that my mum has to be in a care home and that’s what her money has to be spent on (if she still has any left). This is the best for our family, considering the circumstances and it’s not a failure, even if, possibly, other people think it is.
I spoke with my brother yesterday on the phone and he said he’ll fix the roof but he sounded rather sarcastic, like if he really meant ‘get off me, I’m coping perfectly fine’. I almost heard him thinking he’s one level above everyone else.