“Not too bad.” Same dull ache— I’d adapted. Took it to work, got paid, came back. Someone said, “Come out.” I nearly snapped. I said it would go away. Called it my age. Never blamed the ache ’cause it stayed the same. Barely hurt. Always did. Got so used to it, forgot to mention it. Oh. That took a lot. More than I knew. More than I thought. Turned my head— didn’t catch. Tried again. Couldn't push past. That took— that took a lot. More than— more than I thought. Whole film through, didn’t have to shift. What a joke. I had the patience for that. Still had plans when the shift was done. Usually by six, I’d had enough. Thought I’d lost interest. I’d got dull. Funny how much a little ache took. Would’ve said “fine” if you’d asked last week. Would’ve got annoyed if you’d questioned me. I could do it all. That part was true. Didn’t count the effort. Had nothing to compare it to. Oh. That took a lot. More than I knew. More than I thought. Turned my head— didn’t catch. Tried again. Couldn't push past. Thumb on my shoulder. Pressed out of habit. Wait— why am I doing that?
