I scratch the little crack in the rubber part of the pen with my nail. I’ll probably rip it off soon and then it’ll be uncomfortable to hold and I’ll have to get a new pen. I like this one though, I got it on our trip to Edinburgh, the vacation I didn’t want to take that ended up being one of the best ones. They’re all great, because I get to be with them…

I like writing by hand. It’s slow but it gives me time to think and makes me feel involved. I am creating something that can’t just go away by holding a key on the keyboard. If I make a mistake, I get to vent out my rage by scratching nervously over the words, you can’t get that by pressing “Backspace”. For so much handwriting you would imagine I got this down to an art by now. But it’s messy and inconsistent. When I was learning how to write, I was the fastest in class, but that came at the cost of beauty. My teacher praised my fast writing skills but berated me in front of the whole class about how ugly my handwriting was, holding up my notebook as an example on how not to do it. So this confused little girl tried to change her writing while still maintaining speed. I ended up never having a consistent hand, sometime it will have beautiful long loops, other times it’ll look like a bunch of spikes crashed into one another.

But I should really hurry up and type this out soon though, deadlines are no joke.

I stretch my back for a moment, a familiar pain. It’s the posture, I have horrible posture. I look out the window next to my desk: green, my favorite color. We decided to stay at the cottage this weekend so the boys can enjoy some fresh air and I can finish the chapter I was working on from here. The air still holds on to the morning chill, but it looks like the sun might come out soon. I’m not the only one who noticed this, I can hear my husband in the hallway fighting with small jackets and boots that the little humans are refusing to put on. I promised I would let them go on a morning walk to the lake while I stay in and continue working, but their laughter is too enticing. I jump out of my seat, “I’ll write in the night” I tell myself, already forgetting that I didn’t get much sleep the night before either. I grab the worn-out hoodie hanging on the back of my chair and run to the hallway to join the war on outerwear.

We let the boys run a bit ahead while we walk behind, after all they know the path pretty well by now. The older one likes to challenge the little one and it looks like this time it will be an acorn collecting competition. Luckily John packed snacks and drinks since I neglected breakfast again. What would I do without him? He’s telling me a story about a field trip he went on when he was in school. I think I’ve heard this one before, but I just love the enthusiasm in his voice. He’s holding my hand, always firmly, it makes me feel safe.

I look up at the sunlight flickering through the leaves, a dance of light and shadow. I close my eyes, just for a minute, to feel the light on my eyelids, on and off and on and off… why is it so weirdly rhythmic? I open my eyes, the chat window is blinking, a new message from Richard:

“Hi Anna! Happy Friday!

Just a reminder that Mike wants those quarterly reports by EOD today.

Hope you can handle that.

If you have any issues I’ll be out for the rest of the day but I think Gonzalo might still be around so feel free to ping him.”

“Karma will get you!”

No, she won’t. You see, Karma’s a bitch. And that doesn’t mean what you think it means. Have you ever heard of someone with deep sense of justice and honor, on an everlasting quest for what’s fair being called a bitch? No, Karma’s a bitch because she’s a resentful, immoral, sadistic brat that chooses her targets at random and gets nothing but pure joy from their senseless suffering.

You don’t believe that? Are you going to tell me that babies with some awful genetic disorder deserve their fate? Or is it maybe something they did in their previous life? Yeah, that sure helps build a strong sense of control right from the get-go.

But I get it. It’s nice to imagine that even when you can’t get your own revenge, there’s some cosmic force out there working on your behalf to punish those who have wronged you. Notice how you’re never the villain when Karma is supposed to do her job. Well, but I’m sure that’s because you’re truly an honest, virtuous soul who is essentially uncapable of any bad thought, let alone acting on it.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, right! Look, I’m not here to explain to you what foreclosure means. Get your stuff and get out!

“And just a couple of blueberries. Bring in those antioxidants!” she giggled to herself preparing her daily smoothie.

She went through her morning routine, a harmoniously synchronized ritual that took years to bring to the perfect state it was in today. The last step was to carefully tuck in her agenda in the purse. The agenda was her treasure, her main source of pride and joy. It was filled with colored paper markers sticking out, none of them out of place, they were each pointing to a specific page where the neatest handwriting indicated an important color-coded reminder.

She left the house very early, as she usually does, to avoid the traffic, but also to still arrive to work in time in case there would be heavy traffic. She hated the lack of control over her commute, but she was satisfied with her precautionary measures. She loved her job as an executive assistant to one of the main partners in the company. She was happy to show off her exquisite organizational skills and it made her feel important, after all, the partner would be completely lost without her.

In the office, she placed her purse in its designated spot next to her desk and took out the agenda. She would look though it and have a few smoothie sips while the computer was booting up.

That’s when she saw it, smoothie stuck mid-swallow, shock filling her eyes, in red ink and followed by three exclamation marks: “7:00 AM - Come to work one hour earlier and prepare the meeting room for William!!!”. She looked at the clock: 7:38 AM! She dropped her beloved agenda and ran towards the meeting room. Through the glass door she saw William, her boss, sitting at the meeting table and listening to the presentation that was going on. She analyzed what she saw. Did he have his laptop? Yes, but the charger was not there! What if the battery runs out?! How could William contribute to this meeting with a non-functioning computer?! Did everyone have drinks? They seemed to have gotten coffee from the kitchen, but where were the biscuits? People will want to relieve the bitter coffee taste and there were no biscuits! She looked closer at William’s face. Did he seem upset? Was that a frown? He must have been looking for her, needing her and she was just not there!

She started feeling cold and hot at the same time, vision blurred, knees giving in. She ran to the bathroom and into the first stall. Hands shacking on the lock as she slowly melted to the ground. The boulder sitting on her chest was making it difficult to breathe. “How could you forget?! How could you be so stupid?! William will hate you! And he should. You messed up really bad!” In matter of seconds she went through the scene of her boss yelling at her, leading to her inevitable firing, the impossibility of her finding a new job, because who would hire a failure?! And then the image of her mother’s disappointed face, the same strict expression that has been staring down at her for her whole life.

After a few minutes that seemed like hours, she came back to the present and realized William’s meeting will be ending soon and she should be there to face the music. She stood up, unwrinkled her clothes, combed her hair with her fingers and slowly walked back to her desk.

William finally came back from the meeting. Let the storm begin…

“Hey Laura. How’s it going? Oh, before I forget, can you set me a reminder to look through the March sales report before the end of the week? Thanks!”

Sitting on the ground next to the bed in a deafening silence. She was going to grab a chair but she didn’t and now she just sat there, holding little Josephine’s lifeless hand.

Josephine had passed away placidly and apathetic, representative of the her life up until that point. While it was expected, the tranquility of it all was still disturbing. The little girl was born with a rare disorder that rendered her fully paralyzed, unable to speak or show any emotion. At birth, doctors predicted she will only live for a few months, a year at best. That was seven years ago. Seven long years of her caring for a living doll’s every need, a daughter who would never be able to look into her eyes. Seven years of her every though and action revolving around Josephine.

The realization of what had just happened started seeping in. As she looked at Josephine, she felt a warm tear rolling down her face hitting the corner of her mouth. A corner turned up. Was she smiling? What was this? Relief? Tears of happiness? She quickly wiped the tear away together with the smile. She fell into a pool of nausea at the though, what kind of mother rejoices at her own daughter’s passing?!

“No! Burry it! Burry this feeling and never bring it back! Never speak of it to anyone! You will live with this guilt alone, that would be your punishment!”

The thought of an atonement allowed her to regain some self control. She stood up, surprised she could feel her legs again. “I must make arrangements” she said out loud to her self. She pulled on the blanket covering Josephine and smoothened out any small crease as she was used to doing everyday.

She took one last look at Josephine’s livid face and left the room.

This is the beginning of your chat with IJ

IJ: hey! :)

AM: hi

IJ: how are you?

AM: superficial

IJ: what?

AM: nothing just trying out new answers to this question

IJ: uuhm ok lol

I heard there’s cake today!

it’s Katrina’s birthday

AM: who’s Katrina?

IJ: from HR

AM: is that the nice one or the bitch?

IJ: they’re both nice…

AM: you clearly never needed their help

IJ: jeez you’re in a mood!

Focus, ok?! CAKE!!

AM: will I need to sing?

IJ: I guess… but you can just pretend or something

lip-sync!

AM: mmm… I might just come by later, after the singing is done

IJ: alright! I’ll make sure to save you some cake :)

AM: yeah ok cool

IJ: I am never inviting you anywhere ever again!

AM: what?

IJ: you ruined Katrina’s birthday!!

AM: I didn’t realize office b-days were invite only

IJ: I saw you fiddling with the cake when Katrina was giving her speech! you made is spell Happy Birthday Latrine

AM: the L and the e were particularly difficult to make from the other letters

IJ: do you think this is funny?!

AM: I'm pretty sure I saw some people laugh

IJ: you also licked the only cake cutting knife we have!

AM: I was flirting with the new intern…

IJ: we had to use a butter knife!

AM: Improvise. Adapt. Overcome.

IJ: and you insulted Katrina in the birthday card!! you wrote that she looks old!!!

AM: what I wrote was “Happy Birthday! May your actual age one day catch up with your face’s age”

IJ: you’re horrible! poor Katrina was crying in the women’s bathroom

AM: an improvement on her makeup, I’m sure

IJ: just what the hell is wrong with you??!!

AM: when I asked if she’s the nice one or the bitch… turns out she’s the bitch

IJ: so what? was this some sort of twisted revenge?!

AM: no…

This.

Was.

Justice!

IJ has closed the chat window.

From the beginning then? Right...

It started out of boredom. Like a lot of things do. Not necessarily things you want to have happen. But you just need to escape the boredom, you know?! I heard of this experiment they did once, where people chose to press a button to give themselves an electric shock, rather than sit still and do nothing. Do you know how many people pressed that button? Well, I guess I also have a low tolerance for boredom.

Or maybe I just had enough of the glamourous cashier life and my fabulous closet apartment. What would you know about that, huh? You have that “I’m going to my lake house this weekend” kind of face. Yeah, yeah, back to the story…

It was Thursday and I was waiting at The Thirsty Brew for Jody, my best friend. I call her my best friend cause she’s my only friend. Anyway, she sent me a text saying she can’t make it, gave me some bullshit excuse, but, to be honest, I think she just doesn’t like spending time with me that much. I thought I’d just finish my drink and go home.

Now, I’ve been staring at this guy from across the bar for a good fifteen minutes, and it’s not like me, but something just urged me to get up and go talk to him. Like I said, boredom… So, I go to him, I didn’t even feel nervous or nothing, and I ask him if I could sit next to him and get him something to drink. And he actually said yes. I was surprised cause I didn’t expected it to work. Well, truth be told, I didn’t know what I expected. Anyway, we got to talking and he was really nice and friendly.

I felt accepted, like I mattered to someone. I felt beautiful! I never feel beautiful. I mean, look at me. Do I look like one of those face cream commercial girls?! Why do they even need the cream?... Cause beauty matters. It does! If you tell me you don’t believe it, it’s either cause you’re already beautiful, or you’re just lying to yourself. Do you think Courtney, the prom queen, got the best role in the school play because she was just so damn talented? Well, you don’t know Courtney... But you know a Courtney, your own Courtney.

Well, I guess there was also a little bit of loneliness mixed in with the boredom, cause I let him take me home and I invited him upstairs for coffee. Like anyone drinks coffee at 2 AM…

It was nice, you know. I had forgotten how it was like and it was nice…

In my mind I was already marrying this guy and having his babies and living in a pretty house in the suburbs. Don’t give me that look, like you’ve never been so desperate to run away from your boring life! I just wanted so much to believe that a random Thursday evening could change everything. Well I guess it did, huh?

So, when I saw him digging through my purse, it was like someone took my pink glasses off and stepped on them. I asked him what he was doing, but I think a part of me already knew the answer. He said something about taking his pay for the night and I think he mistook my sudden drop back into reality for confusion cause he turned to me and said “What? Did you think I would actually want to sleep with someone like you?”. Someone like me?! I just… I snapped! I took the whiskey bottle off the table and hit him over the head. He dropped like a log. I don’t know why I grabbed the knife after that and started stabbing him, all I know is when I was done, I felt so much better.

After this, all the other men just came easy, naturally, you know?! I was finally good at something. And I was most certainly not bored. How many did you say? Twenty-three? Yeah, sounds about right. Can’t say for sure, I never bothered counting them.

Am I sorry? Yeah, I’m sorry the last guy got away and now I have to sit here and have this nice little chat with you.

I didn’t tell you!... How many people pressed the shocking button in that boredom experiment. All of them. Everybody presses the button, it’s just a matter of time.