I am currently sitting here at my computer at 3:20am on Thursday 18 June and I am absolutely freezing. I have the air conditioner on cold because the heater turned itself off after the room became too hot. I like the noise the air conditioner makes; it distracts me from all the sounds that naturally occur at night but, in my mind, somehow become signs that someone is about to break into the house.
I know it's cold outside. It's raining, and I like the sound of the rain for the same reason I like the sound of the air conditioner. But it is cold inside too. In fact, it is probably colder in here than it is outside. It doesn't bother Mum, and I would rather sit here with my hands typing away like icicles than cower in some part of the house, too scared to move.
I saw an article in The Advertiser online yesterday about a SAPOL Assistant Commissioner, John Venditto, who is currently in the process of retiring. He's been in SAPOL for 42 years, which is a lifetime. The article said Mr Venditto has been off duty since last May on full pay, and there is a degree of mystery surrounding the circumstances. It also noted that "Secrecy laws unique to South Australia prevent The Advertiser from reporting on circumstances surrounding Mr Venditto's absence."
He is also apparently set to receive a six-figure lifetime pension. The article reported that he "would likely be entitled to between 60 and almost 67 per cent of his annual more than $300,000-plus salary, meaning he would receive a lifetime pension of more than $180,000 and possibly upwards of $201,000 a year." That's all very well and good, but the pension means nothing if he's sick, which is what it sounds like.
The reason I mention the article, however, is that after reading it I immediately found myself hoping that the superintendent I am making the police oaths project for applies for the position and gets it. I genuinely think he would make an excellent commissioner one day.
After spending a great deal of time collating the names and addresses of police commissioners, chiefs of police and ministers responsible for policing in every country in the world, I now have a database full of contact details that has been turned into mailing labels. I am planning to send the letters requesting copies of the oaths police take in each country at the start of the new financial year, which just happens to be when the price of stamps goes up.
When I eventually send the superintendent this book of police oaths, I am going to write the same thing I wrote to the Chief Justice: that I do not need or want a response. Half of the artistic merit of the piece comes from sending it and allowing it to sit with a stranger, from a stranger, with no further interaction. I think that is the way I am going to operate throughout my artistic life.
I do like the superintendent, though. I sit here absolutely drowning in fear throughout the night. I watch a lot of YouTube, and on two occasions I have watched him hold extended press conferences where he explained how SAPOL was policing a particular issue. Something about him in those videos made me feel safer. I think it's his demeanour, and perhaps the type of police work he does, that makes me feel SAPOL may be more reliable than I first thought.
We've got this man, Tony, who comes and mows the lawns. I don't know how Mum found him, but every time he comes, she has a good old chat with him. I met him once and he seems like a lovely older man. He also seems like he has a bit of an attitude, which I like.
On Tuesday, Mum had a missed call from him and asked me to call him back and see what he wanted. I told him I was Mum's daughter and that she'd missed a call from him. His first response wasn't to launch into the reason for calling. Instead, he said, "Is she alright?" referring to Mum.
I told him she was fine, and we arranged for him to come yesterday, which was Wednesday. I have to say, I thought it was lovely that Tony was genuinely concerned for Mum. It was the smallest thing, but it meant everything. It's funny, the little unlikely friendships people develop in life.
I've talked a lot about my Nanny, who looked after my brother and me literally from the day we were born. In so many ways she was like a grandmother, but she was also like a mother, and she was my best friend. She passed away in 2024, which was devastating.
Nanny always put herself below my parents. She saw them as big, important people with money, prestige and influence, and I know she never viewed herself as being on equal footing with them. When we were younger, Mum would ask her to do things that any employer might ask of a nanny: pick us up from school, clean the house and,clean the toilets, which I still have nightmares about.
But I remember one particular occasion when I was very young. Mum was sick in bed, and I watched Nanny walk up to her, kiss her on the forehead and say, "You'll get better soon, dear." In that moment, she was very maternal towards Mum.
Nanny was strong and tough, though. She was racist, homophobic and had very strong views. That was difficult because those are exactly the sorts of attitudes, I am dead against, and I am deeply critical of other people who hold them. But with Nanny, I mostly let it slide. When I challenged her, which I did when I first began to realise how wrong those views were, she would cry, and it would become an emotional rollercoaster. Eventually, I made the decision to let it go.
Over the years, she talked to Dad about her youth in Lithuania and Latvia during the war, her journey to Australia, her work as a nursing assistant and the many other difficult jobs she had throughout her life. Like I said, she was strong and tough, and Dad respected that. Nanny would get Dad to help her make beds and fold sheets, and while they worked, they talked about their lives. Over time, they developed a genuine friendship.
When Dad was living day to day with dementia but was still at home with Mum and me, he could sometimes be unreasonable. Understandably so. Watching that cruel disease up close made me realise how frustrating it must be for the person living with it, as well as for those around them.
On one particular day, Dad just wouldn't settle down. He was restless, pacing, and not listening to Mum or me. We needed to calm him down, so Mum suggested we call Nanny and ask her to come over and speak to him.
Nanny came over and managed to settle him almost immediately. She had always been considered part of our family, but on that particular day she seemed to have more influence over Dad than either Mum or I did. I think it was because of the very special friendship they had developed over forty years.
I wish Nanny were here now, so I had some support with the situation with Mum. I literally don't have a single person to talk to about it. But I'm not so concerned about my own processing of the diagnosis; I'm more worried about Mum. I think the worst part of dementia is when you know you've got it, you have insight into it, and yet you're living through it at the same time.
Dementia Australia have been wonderful. I've spoken to a counsellor there a couple of times and he has given me advice and referrals. Interestingly, both of his parents had dementia too, so he understands where I'm coming from. I think he also understands that there is a very high chance that both himself and I are going to get it.
I understand that reality, and I'm trying not to think about myself too much during this process. But the truth is that my Dad had Alzheimer's disease, my half-brother developed frontotemporal dementia at a young age and died quite quickly, and now my mother has dementia. We don't yet know whether Alzheimer's is involved in Mum's case because they were going to do further testing in six months.
If I were a betting woman, I would say that one day I'm probably going to get it too. When I really sit down and think about that, it makes me want to do a million things.
The first thing I want to do is be there for my mother, and I am going to be. But I also want to write to every democracy in the world and ask whether they think Israel is a democracy when millions of people living under its control don't have a vote. I want to prove that just because a country is a democracy doesn't mean it is good. I want to learn about the history of democracies. I also want to travel to Israel.
I definitely want to travel through Europe. I want to blow glass, make silicone lifeforms, learn everything I can about the British Empire and colonialism, and then be able to say to my brother that he, along with so many other people in the Western world, is a white supremacist.
I want to have a holiday house in Mauritius and meet up with my best friend Maiki there every year. I want to go on a world cruise. I want a big, safe apartment overlooking the city of Adelaide. I'd love to fall in love, although that is not a possibility for me for a number of reasons. So, in lieu of that, I want to love the people around me harder.
And most of all, I want to carve my own Christmas tree ornaments.
The idea of getting dementia makes me realise that I probably don't have as much time as I think I do. I need to put a rocket up my arse, and quickly.
What I dislike, though, is when someone reads a self-help book or an inspirational quote and suddenly becomes determined to do everything they've ever wanted to do. It always feels manufactured. I don't want that. I want these things to fall into place organically.
Since I've been writing this blog, I've always had different plans and things I was going to do, but if I'm honest, I haven't actually done all that much. I think the most consistent thing I've done over the past year and a few months is make my volunteer calls every weekend.
I am passionate about the service, and I want to continue doing it for as long as I live. It's not always easy to get up at 7:00am on a Saturday or Sunday morning. Most of the time I haven't even slept from the day before. But I continue to do it because I love the people I speak to and I love what the service stands for.
It stands for the idea that no one is forgotten and that someone will notice if you don't answer the phone. I just love that.
So I think about the things I have coming up in the months and years ahead. The first is my journalism degree, which at this moment in time I care about deeply. I want to learn how to write proper articles, opinion pieces and feature stories. Maybe one day I'll be published and paid for my work. I genuinely want to do the journalism degree.
The second thing I've got going for me is the Certificate II in Hospitality. I said yesterday that it is the most important qualification I will ever do, and I meant it. I have to do this. If I can't do this, I can forget about everything else. Everything depends on my ability to get up, go to TAFE and earn the qualification.
I'm not sure how much I want to pour drinks or make coffees. What really appeals to me is housekeeping or working on hotel reception. I don't think a Certificate II in Hospitality will automatically get me a job in either of those areas, but it might demonstrate that I have some understanding of the industry. Combined with my work history, perhaps it will open a door somewhere.
The truth is that I really want to work in housekeeping. I've done it before and, at the time, I didn't love it. But I know I would now. One of the major benefits of housekeeping is that you're always moving. It's a great way to stay fit. I'm going to lose weight this year because I want to be fitter and stronger for making beds, vacuuming floors and cleaning bathrooms.
I know this sounds strange, but I want to do housekeeping for Nanny. We had this beautiful woman cleaning our homes for more than forty years, and now it's my turn to do some cleaning.
I also like the idea of working in those majestic hotel rooms. Interestingly, the only place I really feel safe is when I'm sleeping in a hotel. My only requirement for a good hotel is that it has a 24-hour reception so there is always someone awake while I'm asleep.
So that's my goal. I want to complete the Certificate II in Hospitality and get casual work around my studies in housekeeping at a five-star hotel.
The final plan I have is the Advanced Diploma of Screen and Media, which starts in January next year. It runs three days a week, Monday to Wednesday, and I think that's the perfect amount of time to devote to learning all the incredible skills the course offers.
I can barely contain my excitement about doing it. I'm going to be the mature-age student who doesn't fit younger people's expectations of what a forty-five year old woman should be like.
Then I think about how I'm going to get dementia, and suddenly I don't care about those expectations as much as I once did. I want to do the Advanced Diploma. I want to do all of these things. And I can do them. I literally just have to do them.
The biggest threat to me successfully living out this dream run isn't other people. It's me getting distracted by new ideas.
Today, for example, I went through a phase where I decided I wanted to learn furniture restoration and upholstery. But I'm learning to contain those thoughts and ideas.
As I finish this post, it's now 4:45am. That's fifteen minutes before my safe time.
All night I feel anxious and scared, but at 5:00am it all seems to dissolve. The fear doesn't disappear entirely, but it loosens its grip on me. The world starts to wake up, the birds start singing, and suddenly everything feels a little more manageable.
I'm going to enjoy that feeling by watching Tucker Carlson present "The Shocking Reality of the Treatment of Christians in the Holy Land by US-Funded Israel" on YouTube. It's had more than two million views, so I thought I'd see what all the fuss is about.
