Despair (Part Two)

By noon the small talk has died down almost completely. By four o'clock everything gets frantic, especially the phones. She particularly despises that horrible device. It annoys, interrupts, and stresses her more than anything else in the office. Like a robbot she answers the calls with a sweet, well mannered voice as the minutes keep ticking by.

She is almost grateful to be so busy because at least for a while she cannot think about her money troubles, her son's needs, her daughter's puberty, her husband's struggles to make ends meet, her mother's demanding attitude. 

Finally it is five o'clock. Silently, no alarms, no fireworks, just a single number on the white sphere that allows her to put away her pens and papers and go out the door.

In the car, she notices the days are beginning to get longer. She tries to concentrate on what to cook for dinner but her thoughts keep fluttering away. She longs to be able to not do anything, to just go home and read, think, write. Is that too much to ask? Her longings seem so simple, humble even, and yet so unattainable.

She is very quiet at dinner but no one notices. Already exhausted she knows this day will end like the others. Just a hollow block in time and she wants to cry.

At bedtime the monotony of her life crept up and crushed her. Wearily she laid down her head and tried to prepare for another day.