Just now I finished reading Still Alice by Lisa Genova and it's freaking me out. I feel like I have Alzheimer's myself, like I'm losing my memory, like I've spent the afternoon drowning in a thick soup.
The book is fantastic. A page turner. You know what's going to happen to this woman, this Alice, a Harvard professor, a top of the line brainiac, who gets early onset Alzheimer's. You know it's not going to end well. You know you're gonna sucked into the miasma that becomes her life. You know that, but you have to find out what happens anyway so you skip heavy-hearted through the pages, hoping for a miracle you know darned well isn't going to happen.
I don't have Alzheimer's. Gawd, I don't think so. But my memory is nothing like it used to be and it wasn't great to begin with. Dave is constantly saying, "Don't you remember? I told you such-and-such yesterday," but I have no idea what he's talking about. Reading Genova's book exacerbated my own faulty memory problems and their surrounding anxiety. Having just finished the final page, I could swear I am still climbing to the top of a deep, dark, slippery well.
