This TBI has a silver lining.

Years and years ago, I'd quipped that I looked forward to senility, and not just because it'd include a built in excuse for anything inappropriate I did.  Just think (err, really, just another accidental, but appreciated, pun), with a somewhat addled mind, all old favorites could be new again. I believe I still have a ways to go before that attainment, and I'm incredibly pleased with my degree of mental recovery, but in the first months after I was released from the hospital and recovery facility, a month after the accident, my perception was a bit more fuzzy than I realized at the time.

One of the many problems with drunk driving is that, when drunk, people are utterly unqualified to recognize their drunkenness. In my recovery, I was clearly aware when I couldn't remember names far worse than even my inborn default, but I didn't necessarily have the judgement to realize when my judgement was off. It was in this time of a lot of rest and somewhat limited physical freedom I was introduced to Phoebe Waller-Bridge's Fleabag, a two season TV series from the BBC.

I liked it. I thought it was funny. Beyond that, however, I don't think I really, well, thought about it enough. Last month, I found the script of the original one person play that morphed into the show, and along with the script were various musings from those involved in it's production, including words from Phoebe Waller-Bridge. I'd like to think I'm thinking better now (OK, that one was intentional), and from those comments, I realized there was a depth to the show where I'd fallen without a parachute (nope, that one doesn't work, but I'm keeping it anyway).

I wanted to watch it again, which was endosed by the person who'd originally introduced it to me and watched episodes with me. Apparently, I'd laughed at times they felt were less than entirely appropriate. See, I had early-onset senility! So, I watched both seasons a second time, happily savoring it at no more than one episode a day. Is it funny? Yes, but it is so, so much more. Find it. Watch it. Then maybe read the script and watch it again. I don't want to influence those experiences any more than to encourage them.

Meanwhile, and likewise, I also just reread John Steinbeck's Sweet Thursday, which is also a bit of genuine fun, but also a more serious love story than I'd either noticed or remembered. I even read the critic's introduction this time, and oh yes, this reading was inspired by listening to it on CD, a new tactic I've discovered to help with the likely TBI related sleep disruption. Everything old is new again, and oh yes, lest I forget (yup, international again), as of yesterday, I totaled another lap round the sun closer to senility!