A Solitary Woman, Chapter One

The walls were closing in.  That was a good thing.  She'd had too much space for far too long.

Everybody needs boundaries.  Most people, in fact, need to be told what to do and what not to do.  Nobody admits that, of course not, but everybody needs it.  That's why people living alone with no requirements crash and burn.  Ask any homeless person.  Or just ask her.  On a good day, when she was talking.

She was easy to read, really, like a stop light.  Three choices.  Red, yellow or green.  Easy to read, easy to know how to respond to.    Red - leave her alone.  Yellow - approach slowly, watch the environment.  Green?  Have a great time!  You and her.  Run with it, fly even.

Quite simple -- the stop light theory -- but again, a boundary.  Same thing that tells you what to do and when to do it.  Like your calendar or work schedule -- if you have a job.  That you still do.

And she didn't.  Do it, that is.  Oh, she still had a job, but it was elusive and getting away from her.

Just like her marriage, her weight, her children, her keys.

Retaining a thought, taming an urge, recalling a promise - it had all become vague, hazy.  She was living in the fog that hovers on the mountaintop silencing the view, killing the euphoria, steering her to the edge.