Lorazepam 2

We had just finished playing go fish, I got up and looked around the room. Laundry, still warm, was piled on the couch, and dishes lay, dirty, in the sink. I took the tshirts out of the laundry and, flicking the larger wrinkles out, laid them in a pile over the armrest of the couch. My son asked me to play with him. A minute, I said. A fan blew in the room, I watched it pivoting, back and forth. My son asked me something, the TV was on, I listened to the sound of the fan, watching it swivel. I checked email on my computer. The boy was talking, looking at me. There was a stack of papers on the counter I needed to go through. All I could hear was the fan whirring, whirring around around around around. This is not right. People don't live like this.