Eight tentacles, no fucks given

I recently learned that after octopuses breed, they develop dementia. Following which, they live the rest of their lives in a confused state of existence where they really don’t seem to connect themselves with what happened in the past. It’s like they sacrificed the time they spent until that moment for the sake of progeny. Imagine an octopus bumping into a friend after the great grand act of sex and failing to recognize him/her. Wouldn’t that be awkward? The only way it won’t be awkward is if that friend also managed to get laid. Worse still, the two octopuses who mated refuse to recognize each other as soon as they are done. Who’s going to take care of the kids now, honey? All of a sudden, i’ve developed immense respect for octopus. I’ve always had a thing for sea horses (even got one tattooed on my arm) for the way they move — so damn slowly, yet so damn gracefully! In conclusion, i wonder what must be going on inside the head of an octopus who’s being eaten alive in Korea. I hope s/he tries to distract themselves thinking of the wild times they had before their memory got fucked.