They say I am forgetful. They say it is because I am getting old. They say I do not understand. But I do understand. I understand they do not want me staying at their home anymore. I do understand they do not want to care of me anymore. I do understand I am getting old. They say they have someone else to care for me, although I do not want anyone else to care for me. I do not understand why. I do not understand.

“We have someone that can help you.” and “This will do you good, we promise.” and “We will visit you everyday.”

“Stop!” I can not handle this. They think I am too old to help myself. They send me away, wheeling on my own, angry. Like a snake, slithering away from the other whom ate his own prey. 

I arrived. I am here. I am coping. It has been only a few hours and I already do not know what to do. I am lost--worried.

I met many people. Patrick Peterson playing solitaire. Rochelle Roberts reading her magazine. Tina Tagle talking and greeting. I am not made for this. What do I do here?

I do not understand.
I did not understand.
I understand.