It's peanut butter crackers and diet coke. A time to reflect on choices, life, failures, economic goals. In the background, without sound there's a shadow, never stitched nor set by adhesive. It's simply there like I am on this carpet, Indian style wondering if someone can see this. This body, this soul, this crippling person who flicks bits of toasted crumbs from her lap. Staring into an enormous oblivion wishing to swallow her whole until nothing remains but the shadow. This is depression at it's finest.