Regret

is one of her daily exercises, when she gets like this. Sometimes whole winters got spent away in this way, hermit-like, nourished by the tv background glow, hoarding the weed until it finished, or popping muscle relaxers from their silver lining. Not that bovinely living the days in her apartment was a lifetime occupation; but sometimes it struck her, and it go for 2 days or a week, but she was halfway unreachable then, she´d screen your calls and you just knew she was there with the curtains half-drawn. She wouldn’t answer the door if we had somehow gotten past the doorman up to her place. Not that we would, who wants to interact with people who don’t want to leave the house? She pretends she’s busy and what not, but you know, you just know, she’s secretly swollen with regrets.

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