Yup

Rebecca is sitting on the living room, her legs are crossed in a lotus position, opposite heel placed on the opposed thigh. The heel is pressing into the flesh of her upper thigh in a way that is leaving a mark vaguely reminiscent of a child’s fingers imprinted into Play-doh. The carpet’s color almost matches the eggshell of the couch. If her fiancé comes back home tonight, she is going to make him dinner. She vaguely considers doing this naked, but recoils at the idea of nudity in the kitchen. The couch is oriented in the traditional American manner, facing a nineteen inch Toshiba television. The blank television’s screen is reflecting the couch’s own eggshell back at itself. Her back is resting against the right arm of the couch, and her left shoulder is parallel to the full length window that overlooks an arterial street of Silver Spring, MD. She keeps picking out random men, and assigning her fiancés particular walk or gestures to them.

She is considering suicide, but doing so abstractedly, but allowing it to move through her mind in wave like fashion, ebb and flow. The people on the street below are moving tributarily from office buildings and into the parking garage. She is secretly thrilled by the anonymity of looking out at a window. An oscillating fan is raising slight goose bumps on her arms despite the interior heat of the room, which is approximately 82 degrees. The room’s temperature and relative humidity make its condition something close to viscous. The thoughts themselves are abstract, and occasionally involve bizarre scenarios. The dramatic suicidal reflection is the sort of thing that her fiancé would recognize and accurately categorize as her need to be raised from the grey mass of humanity and be “special.” Most of the suicidal scenarios that she has created are too complex and yet indistinct to be described successfully. One of them involves a hot air balloon.