Once upon a time…

There was a middle-aged woman who couldn’t quite figure life out. She went to work every day and nothing happened. She made dinner every night, but nothing happened. She lived every day calmly and steadily without taking a risk, as they all say you should, yet nothing really happened in her life.

Every evening she turned on the television and watched The Golden Girls before closing her eyes and going to sleep. Every morning she woke and sat quietly in the darkness before dawn, her little dog on her lap. Hours would pass before her work-from-home job would start. She would eat a small breakfast, sometimes forego the daily shower for working in pajamas, then log in and the work day would start.

She would rotate between playing music and watching television while working her daily duties, doing her best to stay focused on the tasks and not getting distracted by others in the house living their lives, while she typed away in a small corner bedroom. She broke the days activities up, with her breaks and lunches, and did her best to be grateful for a job such as hers, knowing that many others desire it, but nothing exciting was happening.

When she logged off for the night, she sometimes got a burst of energy which propelled her through making a dinner for her family. When the dishes were done and put away for the night, and her little dog had his last potty time outside, she took her with her and they closed the door to her bedroom.

Sometimes she wrote during these hours, sometimes she read, but always she stopped at 10 PM and put on The Golden Girls before closing her eyes. Sometimes she slept fitfully, too hot, too cold, whipping the covers off and on, doing her best not to disturb the little dog at her feet. Sometimes she had dreams, sometimes nightmares, but when she awoke she would remember that nothing really happened.

And while she understood that her mental health was greatly improved by this lack of happenings, she grew steadily more bored every day. Her urge to do something risky was strong.

She owned no vehicle, and so she felt confined to the walls of her home. Strangely, both comforted by the thought, and ready to rip the walls down around her. But the night would come, and she would remember to be grateful for what she had, and as she rose the next morning, and the following mornings after, she would go to work and start the routine again.

Once she had dreams and laughter and light in her life. The days when she had not been afraid to take risks. The days when she used to play music too loud and dance around her room, dreaming and living, and laughing and more.

One day she thinks, I will have that again, but until then…the routine continues and she tries not to tear her hair out thinking about how dull of a life she is actually living.

The End.