I’m going to be 94 years old in August and I all of the sudden have no say about anything anymore. Every time I set out to do something, someone tells me that it will be fine and not to worry about it, that someone else will do it. Well, heck, I’m not sick or fretting about anything - like giving the dog a bath or something like that. I just asked for the sheers cause I planned to trim some of the fur around his eyes this afternoon, and then someone said a groomer will take care of it tomorrow.

I don’t want someone else doing anything for me, and I don’t want them taking my dog from me. He doesn’t like being away from me. He’ll throw a fit! All of the sudden people are telling me that unless I let them clean up my house, the dog and I won’t be able to stay here anymore. Can’t live in a house with garbage stacked in the garage, a broken toilet, dog food spoons on the kitchen counter and dog poop on the carpets, they say. They already made me sleep somewhere else for the last three nights. My toilet was working just fine; it was leaking is all. I had a bucket to catch it.

They got real mad at me because the garbage man cut me off. They said I didn’t pay the bill. Well, nobody sent anything to me. I didn’t see any bill. So these people who say they are trying to help me, they started throwing things away on me. Some of it didn’t even belong to me, or I planned to sell it some day. What a waste! I paid good money for all of it. I’m sure I can make a nickle here and there on my great-granddaughter’s old clothes, stuffed animals, Barbies, toys and games. Yes, I know they keep me from getting into the bed in the bedroom - what with the piles and clutter all around and all - but I sleep on the sofa in the living room now anyway ... Have for years.

I’m not taking any medicine unless the doctor tells me to herself. I guess the results of my blood work came in from my doctor’s appointment yesterday, and a recording on the phone is supposed to prove that I should take the white pill instead of the green, but I’m not taking it. I’m not. I have three pills total and I know when I’m supposed to take them: two in the morning and the green one at 4 p.m., and I’m not changing anything, not until I talk to the doctor myself. My doctor monkeys with my pills all the time, anyways. I try to keep some of the bottles separate on the window sill, instead of in the cabinet, and sometimes I put pills in together so I don’t have to get up, and then she goes and changes her mind about everything and it gets me all mixed up. I don’t believe in doctors anyway.

The milk they left for me in the refrigerator last week is sour. I don’t think it’s my refrigerator, but it did run warm for a spell this winter. Someone was supposed to come and fix it, but they wanted $40 for it. Forty dollars! I just turned the dial up to high is all. So, no I haven’t had my breakfast yet, and no I haven’t taken my medicine yet this morning. Didn’t have any supper last night neither. I didn’t want to eat the chicken you left for me because I was waiting on someone to come share it with me. There were three pieces ... I couldn’t eat all of it by myself.

No, I don’t want to use the dryer. Can’t afford it. The washer soap they make today ruins so many of my clothes anyway, so I’ve been washing them by hand in the lavatory. I use a real strong bar soap and put the wet things to dry on the side of the tub. Now I’m told I can’t leave my soiled clothes in a corner in the restroom anymore. They said I should use the tub to take baths. Heck, I haven’t taken a bath in three years. I can’t get in there with my swollen legs. There’s nothing to hold on to.

No, I don’t need anybody to do anything for me. I’m just fine by myself with my dog. I don’t like them women and nurses from the county coming around to help me with anything. I can re-bandage my legs myself at night. I don’t need any social services, Meals on Wheels, no Lifeline, Depends, nor any veteran’s benefits, even if I do qualify. I shut the door in their face. I wouldn’t feel right taking anything for free from the government. I lived through the Depression, and nobody gave us nothin’ back then. So, it’s not for me, I don’t need it. I’d just as soon take care of myself. I can manage alone. I’m not riding in no wheel chair, I can tell you that.

I don’t understand why they are picking on me. They think I don’t know from nothing, but I would like to know just who is going to come take me? Why don’t they come and get all those other people living in homes like mine instead of me? When my son takes me for rides on Sundays, I see people all over the county in houses with trash all around and dirty kids running around outside with skinny, barking dogs. It’s a wonder what’s going on inside, and it’s probably not good, but nobody’s forcing them out. I’m not going to any nursing home. I’m staying right here with my dog and nobody’s taking either of us anywhere.

Now I have to take my shoes off in the kitchen; I won’t step on the new carpet. There’s a new couch and a new chair, and the bedroom and the restroom are different. They tell me to keep everything picked up from now on, but the truth is I really don’t think this is where I’ve been living. My house has four bedrooms and three bathrooms and this house has only two bedrooms and one bathroom. My parents’ room is downstairs and my sisters’ rooms are up with mine, and there’s a toilet upstairs. I’ll show you just as soon as I get up. This isn’t where I’ve been living, I say. You all are giving me a bunch of baloney is what you’re doing.

I prefer to sit outside in my chair with my dog most of the day anyway. The air feels good on my face, and maybe if they see me sitting outside, someone will stop by and keep me company.