Macrame

I contemplate Bed Bath and Beyond’s 20% off mattress topper sale and if I should continue to starve myself for my upcoming trip to Florida. 

I am beginning to see lines of progress in my pale brown stomach; fat whisking away, skin reforming itself to a slightly smaller vessel. 

The Therapedic Tru-Cool 3-Inch Serene Foam® Performance Mattress Topper is $279.00 dollars I don’t have; however it used to be $349.00 so I click “add to cart” and continue to decide if this 90-calorie rice pudding is worth fitting into that gorgeous one piece cutout swimsuit without a bloated, round belly protruding through the Lycra design. 

It is 11:48am on a Monday. I should be doing neither of these things. I should be emailing clients, researching invalid claims to be submitted for payment. I wonder if I will get caught shopping online, or writing this essay. 

I search my Spotify playlist for something that will concentrate my serotonin-deficient brain on the work in front of me, the reason I am sitting at this desk from 8-4. 

The clock ticks, and I scroll mindlessly through Facebook and sometimes I even request invoices like I should. I leave the mattress topper in my “cart”; I will probably buy it tomorrow despite -again- not having the $279.00 to spend. Coworkers are closing laptops. Windows log off sounds. 

I stay later than everyone else because I am always at least 15 minutes late to work. The safety of overheating underneath a pair of fleece pants, paisley sheets, two blankets and my sleeping man is enough to keep me unconscious. I slept 12 hours last night; I am still tired. 

My therapist texts me; “Hi, I have a work emergency; are you able to come in tomorrow at 5:30 or Wed at 4:35? I’m sorry this is so last minute.” I contemplate accepting Wednesday’s appointment, but I think of the mattress topper and the out-of-pocket cost of a session with her.

I don’t text her back.