Getting up early in the morning can be rewarding. Lauren's been doing so and walking to school. I do so in parallel by having my phone away from my bed. It forces me to rise and break free from the warm confines. It's working. I was up, got some mediation time, walked the dogs, and used my time after 7.30 for a range of tasks in advance of the workday. I managed to get a call into Lauren's IEP contact at Leigh, rescheduled her eye exam, and learned that replacing the CRV battery cable costs almost $1,000 at the dealership. Whoa. I'll find another route. I went to Panorama at lunch and completed the left wall, and started on the next set of shelves, going clockwise. I listened to "Cold Turkey" and found it a fascinating look at alcohol and addiction. The CRV battery is in the Pilot's back section for a hopeful replacement tomorrow. The battery cable is significantly corroded. I knew it was an eventuality, and I got a year or two out of it. I found some options online that I'm investigating. It's good to have a backup vehicle. I set up Bluetooth Audio on it for calls. I stopped by to catch up with Martin at Philz, too. He's looking more like his father as he ages. We have a good conversation about how a 17yr old's worldview differs so much from that of the same person ten years later. And twenty. And thirty. Lauren and I visited Linda. She was asleep. Lauren woke her with a kiss on the cheek and said, "Good Morning." We asked several questions after that, and she kept responding, "Good Morning." We did get some other responses like "yes" and "that's good" and "hi" when Tommy called. I suspect the stronger medications are the cause. She stared off into space most of the time. She did say 'help me help me' as she has done before, but less so. I'm hoping that she is genuinely 'checked out' enough that this ceases being the ongoing nightmare for her that it has been, and as it remains for us to witness. I had to hold back tears as I held her hand and tried to show compassion. Lauren had some lovely, loving things to say to her, and Linda kissed her cheek. It's a horrible situation – watching and wanting somebody to die as soon as possible, knowing that it's inevitable, and the longer it takes, the worse their experience will be. It hit me hard again. I keep going through phases of resolve and distance, then see her in a diminished state and feel so sad for the loss of a life that could have been more rewarding than I believe hers was.