the next day she decided would not be more of the same.  she felt the need to alter a part of her etched in routine.  doing so gave her the illusion of reaching out of the small, tight box that she used to contain herself.  but was it only an illusion?

maybe it was the spector of illness that  pushed her, or the relentless forward moving clock. whatever it was, she knew she had to expand the area she moved in, in order to move at all.

she was enveloped in fear of a most generalized nature.  however encroaching in this broad based anxiety was an image of herself, very old and incapacitated, looking back at an inert life and railing at her inertia. lost and broken.