She opened her eyes, blinded by the sun shining into her bedroom through the blinds. She stretched her arms above her head and turned around. Her blanket twisted around her legs and held her in a vice-like grip, but she didn’t mind. She didn’t try to extract herself. She knew that something was off, though. Something was holding her back, and she knew that she wouldn’t get up that morning.
She turned back onto her stomach, effectively releasing her legs from their confines. She grabbed her phone, unplugged it and began scrolling through the usual websites for international or otherwise interesting news. Then she opened her gaming apps, one after the other, to keep the streaks alive. She felt nothing. Not empty, not sad. Nothing. There was no urgency, no pain. The thought that she was not in pain surprised her, but not enough to dwell on it. No one was asking for her attention, no one needed anything from her. There were no private messages or emails demanding an answer. She didn’t feel lonely, but she was.
She swiped across her phone’s screen until she found the streaming app she was looking for and put on a comfort show. She had seen it a handful of times. She knew the characters and the storylines, and some of the dialogue was familiar, too. Here, too, nothing demanded focus or attention. She pulled the covers high above her naked shoulder and turned onto her side. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, but it was okay for now.
At midday, the chimes from the adjacent church reminded her of the time. The morning had slipped away from her, and she didn’t know how. Her consciousness reared its head, and she knew that it was time to get out of bed. She knew that a load of laundry was waiting to be folded and put away, the dishwasher was probably ready to be emptied, too, and the bin she had rolled out the night before needed to be pulled in again. Life was waiting, and she couldn’t postpone it any longer. Not without a guilty conscience.
She pulled a T-shirt and black trousers from a pile of clothes that weren’t dirty enough for the washing machine. After getting dressed, she looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were less puffy than they felt, her hair stood out in different directions, and she visibly wore no bra underneath the worn David Bowie shirt. Her feet were bare and cold, but she couldn’t find cosy socks right away and abandoned the idea in favour of an ordinary pair. It wasn’t her best look, but she was alone anyway. No need to win a beauty contest. The thought brushed past her that someone could video call her, but she rarely answered those calls anyway.
Outside, the sun was shining through the last golden leaves still holding on to the trees. It was a beautiful sight that would usually have captured her attention for much longer, enhanced by the wind making the leaves fall and dance on their way to the ground. She grabbed her phone and began working on her imaginary to-do list.
Bin pulled in. Check.
Music on. Check.
Cup of coffee. Check.
Unloading and reloading the dishwasher. Check.
Sitting down with the laundry. Half check.
She wondered why she felt so empty, so nothing. Everything was on automatic. Mad World came on, and the music stopped being background music. She felt heat welling up inside her body and then a burning sensation in her eyes. There was no way of stopping it. She broke down crying. And she didn’t know why.
She didn’t stop folding the laundry and pulling clothes out of the basket. And she didn’t stop crying.
Silently. Alone. Feeling everything and nothing. All at once.
