But you have no soul.

She avoided thinking, but that did not stop an inner voice that prattled on, that she could not silence. What for? Who for?

THE UNBEARABLE WEARINESS OF THE MIDLIFE WOMAN BY AMANDA MARPLES 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 107

Marion did her level best to avoid thinking.

She avoided thinking when her mother, in her china-brittle voice asked yet again who she was, while Marion hoisted her or rubbed her feet.

Again, she avoided thinking when she got home from another day of fetching and carrying, and fixing the gaffer’s mistakes, to find a sink full of plates, and the milk spoiling on the side after Zach had no doubt drank it straight from the carton.

Again when she straightened the cushions, the budget, her eyeliner.

When she lay awake in a pool of menopausal sweat each night listening to the rattling glottis of the lump sleeping beside her.

She avoided thinking, but that did not stop an inner voice that prattled on, that she could not silence. What for? Who for?

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On Tuesdays since the kids were l…