These stodgy thoughts: They encompassed the hours and moved at a dinosaur's reptilian pace for they weren't fully the refinement of thought either but callow half ideas shaped more of superfluous raw feelings than thought and being newborn with eyes shut they staggered around..
Feeling: it came about from chemicals that surrounded an impression made in the gel of memory, and if the impression was a good one, they tried to prompt a being toward more of them, and if it was bad with less of such engagements.
Staggering, her stodgy physical being also had trouble moving. She went to the bathroom with a belief that she would take a shower so that she could go to the shop. She had opened a store that sold landscape paintings and posters from various sources, picture frames, and in her partitioned backroom that she called her gallery, paintings that she picked up from recent trips to Southeast Asia. It was there, as the business was beginning to do well financially that within her migraines she began to founder there in mundane numbers of dollars and cents, abstractions that bored her beyond belief. The frequency of her migraines augmented for, buoyant as she was, she was nonetheless tossed in the undulations of the ennui. Sick at times like she was now, she did not feel like a deity any longer but an effete, forlorn bastardess in this world.
The shop: It was a room by which bland lives from colorless walls could choose from her insipid goods; and from it her monetary concerns were eased as she prostituted the hours of her days.
The days: Already a year had passed away since the point where she wanted to sell the house. It passed away as if it were a mere hour. It passed away as the owl, the ball games of her two boys that had disturbed the bird, youthful naivety that a child's bliss in the simple pleasures of the day (the only happiness there was by her reckoning of the years of her life) would go on forever, and that confidence that the unquestioning love of a child would never alter into the adult judgment against an errant parent. It passed away as youth itself no matter how many doses of Vitamin E and C, growth hormones, estrogen and testosterone replacement, vegetarian meals of choices rich in antioxidants, low fat foods high in carbohydrates, botox injections, wrinkle reducer creams, and morning racket ball sessions with her employees that she implemented into each day.
The house: They were still living there because less than a year ago no one seemed likely to buy it to be of immediate help to her financially.
The boy: And she kept the boy, irate as he was about having a real estate agent's sign in the front yard, since there was no other place for him to go.
She would have gone into the "gallery" to perform her perfunctory duties were in not for the bathroom mirror reflecting a paler and more haggard visage than what she cared to accept; and so, unable to let determination belie reality, she returned to the cold embrace of her silk bed linen. She just lay there with the hours until, puffing on some marijuana and dozing for a few minutes, she awakened to her higher authority accosting her like a mosquito. Gabriele tried to shoo her away with her hand.
"You can't get rid of me that easily," laughed the Higher Authority.
"Athena, sorry. I thought you were an insect."