She lives her life in the moments between her sleep; breakfast and the paper before the first nap, morning tea and perhaps a phone call before the second nap and sometimes lunch becomes dinner and she is back in bed for the night.
It is amazing how much she is able to disconnect from the world with no reaction. Her parents are long gone and she cannot remember when she last had contact with the extended family. She used to get letters from her son in Japan, but that was before she insulted his wife. Now she was alone. She cannot see the point – she never enjoyed work, but had to pay the mortgage and keep herself fed. She retired as soon as she could and her co-workers had asked if she would travel, perhaps visit her son. The thought of her sycophantic response made her angry even now, many years later. She wishes she’d told them the truth – that she’d sooner visit her ex-husband than that selfish sod, but she couldn’t remember visiting days at Pentridge. That would have caused a ripple.
She tries to snap the Valium with a bread knife with no luck and so pops the whole thing in her mouth. No dinner tonight – she’d sleep through. Happy Birthday, Poppy.