Wednesday, 10 February 2010


Stacy set a new schedule, penciling in the simplest of tasks. Like waking, eating, and moving. Normally, a person shouldn't have to set a structured time to accomplish these menial, daily functions, and even Stacy found it the tiniest bit absurd to do so. Funny the hoops that others can make one jump through.

Millicent had been chatting with Stacy for three years, and seventeen weeks. These "chats" were actually sessions, of the head shrinking variety, but Millicent found the alternative term set her more fragile clients more at ease. In those particular instances, ease was taken in whichever form it could be found. Even a repeated white lie.

At home, Stacy dug her phone out of her purse and scrolled to the never-used calendar feature. There, after several mistakes, the worst of which erased a picture of a squirrel she had been particularly enamoured with, she taught herself how to enter appointments via the daily sub-menu.

Three intervals of fifteen minutes, allocated at eleven, two, and seven for "movement." Check.

Four sessions of eating, including the all-important evening snack before retiring. Check.

One appointment to wake, and another to put in for the night. Check.

With a shrug, she set the appointments to chime, as a reminder, then placed her phone on the nightstand.

"I'll give anything for this one to work."

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