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She takes a pill at night, to help her fall asleep. She takes another pill to wake up fully. She goes to work, and puts in eight hours in an office. Four in the morning, four in the afternoon, separated by a thirty minute lunch. Lunch is picked up at the scheduled restaurant. Fast food on Mondays and Wednesdays. Mexican on Fridays. Salad on Thursday. Leftovers on Tuesdays. Each meal, a pill is taken, to help her digest. When the monotony overwhelms her, she takes another pill. One to help her deal. Deal with her life not going where she wanted, because she was too weak to follow through with her plans. She comes home and cleans her house. She straightens her coat into the coat closet. Does the laundry, because it's what's she's suppose to do. She empties the dishwasher full of last night's dishes, now clean, because it's what's she's suppose to do. She makes dinner, washing each pan and utensil as she's finished with it, she doesn't want to leave a mess. After she eats and loads the dishwasher, she goes to the bathroom to shower. She washes the day away, along with her makeup. She thinks about whether she drank enough water that day, did she consume at least 64 ounces? Is she properly hydrated? She worries what she will do if her knees start hurting again. She worries that she will inherit her mother's arthritis. Out of the shower, she feels the onset of a migraine, and takes a pill. Putting lotion on her skin, to prevent premature aging, followed by a pair of pajamas. She picks out her clothes for the next day at work, takes a sleeping pill and crawls into bed. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.