Lisa Martens
Jul 20, 2017 · 1 min read

Meditate.

She walked to the bakery to buy his favorite bread, which looked like little ears dipped in honey, and then bought a Red Bull for herself. It always made her stomach churn. “Stop drinking those,” the ER doctor had said after her third fainting spell. But that was all the way back in college. She didn’t drink as many now.

Her text therapist had recommended some meditation techniques to try before bed. Not having caffeine close to bedtime was a part of that plan. She checked the time. She was fine.

The ultimate goal of the meditation was to get her to stop having nightmares, and to get her to stop jerking awake and wondering where she was. The last time, she checked her wallet for the currency. The currency should tell her which country she was in, at least. But she had American dollars, Turkish lira, Costa Rican colones, and Nicaraguan cordos. The wallet trick hadn’t helped. She would need to use her own thoughts.

How could she meditate with him around? He would eat his bread and then want to watch a movie. He would think she was weird. Or maybe that she needed more sex. Both were true, but had nothing to do with needing to meditate.

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Lisa Martens

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