It’s Friday morning and she wakes with a heavy heavy heart. It almost pins her down with its weight but somehow she drags herself out of bed. As she passes the living room she notices the body not on the sofa as expected but on the floor in an unfamiliar sleeping bag. She tries to complete her morning activities without waking the two brothers that are now sleeping in her house. There must be something about trying to be quiet that meant she returned to the house not once but three times to collect things that she had forgotten.
She starts work at the educational institution that she was not even aware existed in the town of her work. Breakfast is eaten silently watching the students drift in and out of the canteen. Before long the lectures have started and are fascinating, they hold and grip her in the way that departmental teaching simply fails to do. She learns much.
At many points in the day she feels like crying. She cannot explain why. Perhaps it is something about the experiences of the speakers the suffering they endured before they became aware of their full and glorious selves.
She returns to work the heavy feeling in her heart still not lifted. It does not improve with interaction with her colleagues. In fact that somehow makes it worse. This weight, this burden is crushing.
It dissipates only after discussion with the one. It dissipates only after thinking about other ways to exist.
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