A person is like a skittle factory. Your personality is the Rube Goldberg machine clicking and whirring on the assembly floor. The core loop is the fuel powering the factory— your dementia personality. The gas nobody sees but everyone smells. Everyday, reality delivers raw ingredients to your loading dock— conversations, meetings, weather, weird eye contact with strangers— and your factory processes this arbitrary shit into something predictable: your particular flavor of reality. Your skittles.