She wraps a warming heat-pad across her shoulders to calm down the ache that relentlessly reminds her how older age is often times a real bitch these days. In the dim light she looks at her notepad with pen in hand, and then leans back and stares at the ceiling above. Her mind seems void of thought...worn out.
A sip from her cup of decaffeinated Earl Grey tea is no help. It reminds her of boiled alfalfa with a splash of cologne. She's tired. She has the image of a carving knife playing with her knee as she straightens out her leg, and makes way for her cat who insists on being in her space. It's getting late, and way past her bedtime.
Where does she go from here, she wonders...where? She doesn't know. None of her options appeal to her and she can't think of more to consider. She is so doomed. With a sigh, she thinks she won't try to think anymore tonight. Her phoenix refuses to rise up out of the cinders, leaving her with a soul of emptiness.
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