Another Friday Night

She sat inside her ice-cream life and guessed the number of bingo markers it might take to win the jackpot. Sometimes she questioned why so many people drove her crazy. Insulted her. She divided her friends and lovers into good and bad directions. It was raining outside when she began to cook the supper. The stove was hot she was cold. She was always cold in her house, in her ice vein kitchen with the pretty white lace curtains and the yellow-green walls. Her problems could all be isolated into one situation after another. She light a cigarette. Sitting at her table wondering if she should cook rice or potatoes with the meat. It didn't matter. They'd wolf down the food without a glance at her effort. She found she was happier when the kids were at school and that man was at work doing whatever. Impatience wasn't so much her statement as was unconcern. So what, she thought, as she dusted her ashes into the ashtray. Her memories could stretch so far back, before this life even. Yet she knew that what she knew wasn't really very much at all. Maybe he really loved her? Who knew? For her it was only a situation. She wondered if they'd remember to take their shoes off at the door. Her feelings could easily be hurt, but on the other hand she often neglected to express herself. At half past five she'd put supper on the table. They would sit around it. Her family sharing the same table and the same bathroom. Distance. They were mutually ignorant of each other. She put out her cigarette, light another. She wasn't afraid of cancer, just living. Working man would be home soon, right after the kids demanded home. Sighing she stood up and pushed the cat away with her foot, irritated. Checked her purse. Bingo markers neatly labelled. Another Friday night