Establishing a Routine

As the days continued, I grew used to the routine. Wake up, bathe get dressed in the shorts, eat breakfast, ride the bike while watching a soap, hey undressed, bathe again, get redressed in one of the frilly or sequined outfits, go through a stretching routine while watching the weather channel, feed my used clothing through the slot in the wall so that someone could launder it, paint increasingly intricate designs on my nails, eat dinner while jeering at the contestants on the reality show, and then switch to the nightie and go to sleep.

By this point. Katcha’s dragonfly had escaped through the wall slot and I prayed it had made it outside to eat whatever it is that they eat.

With not even an insect for company I actually grew attached to the actors on the television and I actually cried when the shows’ season ended and I had to say goodbye to many of the people I had come to know, at least superficially.

I expected more of the same thing when I next sat down to eat dinner before the {if tvBroken == true} badly damaged {endif}TV. To my surprise, the first of the reality shows was replaced by a different kind of reality TV. Specifically, the new show followed a trio of plastic surgeons as people came into their clinics. The first day that it aired, once of the women came in for a boob job and watching the doctor as he began marking her chest brought back a flood of memories from when I endured the same treatment.

For the first time, I left my meal unfinished, turned off the TV, and went to bed, only to suffer restlessly from forgotten dreams.