Routine

It was hard to make herself care, but perhaps even harder to make herself not care. Standing in front of the mirror, she leaned in close so that her nose was almost touching the glass, then plucked a stray strand of eyebrow out of its follicle. Maybe if I put on some make-up, she thought. It had been so long since she had had time for make-up she could barely remember whether she had ever worn it on a regular basis.

Her phone buzzed impatiently and she broke her concentration to look at the message. Opening the phone, she skimmed the message and noticed the time; she was running late. Again. Shoving her feet into her shoes, she felt a pinching annoyance at her feet, at her eyebrows, at the color of her shirt, and she noticed her breathing constricting. It is definitely harder not to care, she thought, and she slammed the door behind her.