Remote in hand, Lillian scrolls glassy-eyed though the cable menu. She pauses on the row listing a Law & Order rerun in progress, with several more to follow.
Not today.
She’d been buying pints of ice cream for weeks. Yoga mat was gathering dust. Watching hours of cop shows would be yet another symptom. A step further in the repeat descent toward panic attacks and suicidal ideation.
Remember what you’ve learned, Lill.
I am closing my eyes. I am breathing in. I am breathing out. Be here now Accept the negative mood Welcome metaphorical houseguests Avoid aversion I am breathing in, I am—
Fuck.
Her phone is buzzing. Might be a news alert. Might be a notification from some game, or a calorie tracker reminder to enter dinner, or a cat video on YouTube.
Or.
It could be a text.
you can look later, you don’t need to check it
It’s from her mother. “Call me please? Need to talk about this weekend.”
She tosses the phone back onto the stack of unread New Yorkers.
This day will repeat itself. It’s already a repeat. It’s a marathon of repeats.
Glance at phone. Glance at TV, still muted on menu screen. Tap in a rhythm on the sofa cushion.
Thursday. Garbage night. I can manage garbage.
Lill gathers and consolidates all the trash and recycl@ing from various household receptacles, heads down the stairs. Déjà vu sets in as she approaches the building’s dumpster.
Of course this feels familiar. You do this every week. Nah, it’s more than that, it feels like...
It feels like the start of an episode.
She lifts the container’s lid.
Duh-dum
No body in here.
Nobody upstairs.
TV off. Phone silenced. Eyelids drooping.
It’s time.
For a radical shift,
another day on repeat,
for a message from her lover,
a reply to her mother.
Whatever else it’s time for,
sleep comes first.