#80

Something as simple as cooking a meal.

Selecting a few vegetables from the drawer.

Chopping them up.

Sautéing them in some olive oil.

Boiling water to soften a grain.

It had been over three weeks since she had performed these tasks. Such small tasks. So small, that she wondered if she should even bother doing them at all.

Earlier that day, she had gone to look at an apartment. The pictures of it online showed a large sunny kitchen with silver appliances and brilliant white tiles. She had thought about the food she would cook for herself in her own kitchen and it made her hopeful. But once she got there and walked through the door, she realized she had been mistaken. The tiles were no longer white, the appliances were caked with grease, and a gray cat trotted out having just taken a shit in the middle of the floor. The broker apologized, said the tenants were still in the process of moving out, offered to take five hundred off the broker fee. She had to leave before he could say anything more. The smell was overwhelming.

Small tasks could feel difficult and absurd at times like this. But she did them. Because lots of things were absurd. And yet, one had to go on.