It was a bit chilly in the living room. Drafty, you might say. I gave Dad a sweater. "Hey Dana," I called as he passed by the living room entrance. "The window isn't shut up at the top. Could you fix it?" Dana scrunched up his face as he looked up at the window. "Huh, that's weird," he said. He looked puzzled. The window was about open, about 5 inches down from the top. I didn't volunteer any information. Dana often makes fun of my lack of memory. I feel like he sometimes uses this as his only weapon against me when we're each trying to win a fight. As if anyone ever 'wins,' a fight... Since he knows that my memory is poor, he can pretty make up just about anything and say that I said or did that because he knows that I can't be certain. Of course, if I really am forgetting everything, then I'm just being paranoid! But if I'm really not forgetting anything and Dana is trying to trick me, I don't want t...