It was Saturday but Debbie barely considered it a break. There was still so much to do. The apartment was a mess, there were errands to run, she had to text her family back about if she could make it next weekend (like she should've yesterday). And Monday there would be so much more work to do at the office. Maybe she should do some of it over the weekend? If she did, she would feel bad she hadn't got more done around the apartment. If she didn't, when she inevitably got behind this week and got shit from her boss, she'd feel like she should've done it now. And either way she'd feel bad for stressing herself out about the choice right now, making her even more stressed and tired and it even harder to do anything. Fuck.
Maybe coffee would help.
She threw on her fuzzy bathrobe, shuffled over to the tiny kitchen, and tried not to look at anything but the pot to avoid feeling guilty and about not cleaning more or all the dishes in the sink. Just focus on the coffee.
Her phone dinged and her attention both leapt at the distraction and worried what had gone wrong now. Oh, a text from a neighbor down the hall. Olena was out this morning walking her dogs and noticed there was a package by her door and wanted to let her know. That's weird. She hadn't ordered anything. She pushed down the thought Olena was messaging her cause she thought Debbie wouldn't leave the apartment today. That her neighbor thought she was a shut-in and the package was in her way, and she sent the message because she was annoyed it hadn't been moved yet, even if the note was written politely. Debbie tried to tell herself, "No, Olena was just being nice, don't think of it that way."
Debbie made an effort to only wonder about the box as she made her way to the door. Through the peephole, she saw that nobody else was in the hall now, so it was probably fine to just pull the box in in her bathrobe. If she was quick. Maybe. She opened the door and it bumped the package. A big generic cardboard box, maybe 2 feet cubed. Could be anything in there. Squatting briefly, she checked the address and yeah, it was addressed to her. She didn't recognize the return address. Weird. She hastily walked past it, and scooted it through the door with her foot then closed the apartment door again.
It had some weight to it too. She picked it up and put it on the table, then rummaged out some scissors to cut the tape open. She pulled out some packing paper to find what was in this thing. It looked like something wooden? Another box? With a fancy top? She reached in to grab the sides and pull it out, the surface feeling super smooth and solid, and pushed the now empty cardboard box out of the way with her elbow to make room for the wooden one on her little table.
This was just getting weirder. It was clearly a custom made, finely crafted, wooden box, maybe a foot square and tall. It was made to look like a present, strips of dark wood inlaid on the sides like a ribbon, running up each side and crossing the top and where they crossed was a big, sculpted, frilly bow. It was intricately carved to look like dozens of loops of ribbon, but they were thick enough to feel sturdy and maybe be a handle. She tilted it up and yep, the 'ribbons' crossed on the bottom too. She could see a small seam running around the top, showing where the top separated from the box. That felt like it was intentional, because everything else lined up perfectly; the same wood, the same finish, the ribbons across the seam, the incredibly polished surface, everything. The way the rest was made, whoever made this could've made this seam invisible too, but having this line there let her know it could be opened. And that made her curious. What was this? Was there something in it?
She hefted it in her hands a few times, putting off opening it. It felt so smooth and warm and nice in her hands. It had some weight to it, feeling like solid wood sides, not cheap panels under veneers, but she couldn't tell if that was the weight of the box itself or if it had something within. Nothing was shifting as she tilted and shook it a bit, but maybe it was well packed too. Curiosity finally got the best of her and she set it back on the table, took the bow in one hand, and gently pulled the top up. It had some resistance, fitting exactly with the bottom, and pulled up slowly then let go and revealed the interior.
Inside the box was shockingly white. No wait, it was pillowy; it was like the sides and bottom were silk cushions to protect and pad whatever was inside. But yes, so shockingly white it practically glowed. It was almost like one of those uncannily perfect computer simulations, too crisp and uniform and bright to be real, but no this was real and it was in her apartment. Debbie was suddenly aware she hadn't cleaned in a while and the clutter and dust only made the inside of the box stand out more. Then the weirdness of that drew all her attention back.
What was this for? Who had made this? Was there supposed to be something in it? It looked too well made to just be a lark. Someone who knew what they were doing had put some time into making this, carving the bow, sanding and polishing and shaping the wood, fitting the pieces together, lining it; it felt like it was for something specific but what? It didn't feel like it was supposed to be empty but made to hold...something.
As she wondered what went inside, she felt...an odd tug, in her mind. It felt weird, it was like that thought, that wonder about what went inside, was being pulled out of her head. She had never felt anything like that, and just stood there as it was pulled and she felt it fade from her thoughts and get sucked, like a thick bit of milkshake finally going up a straw, sucked into the box. She couldn't say how she knew, but she could feel it leave her head and go into the box.
And then she knew what went in the box. She didn't have to wonder anymore, that had been taken from her and replaced with the knowledge that the box took her thoughts. She had felt it happen, and now it was obvious, like watching a professional put a tool in a custom case and seeing how it fits exactly and then you can't unsee it. This was a box for thoughts. Of course.
And that made her scared. A box that took her thoughts?! How could that be? Who made this and why had they sent it to her- and then that fear, that anxiety and concern was also being pulled away. She felt her spiking heart rate fall back down as she calmed and her fear of the box was also sucked into the box, into its soft, white confines. That felt nice. To not be afraid of the box.
She was still staring into it, thinking about how nice it felt to take that fear away when she idly wondered what else it could take away. She had so many anxieties and worries and fears and concerns all the time: losing her job, being hurt by other people, not being good enough, never figuring out what she wanted, things not working out with Paul, what people thought of her, what she thought of herself, the choices she made, the clothes she wore, the way she looked, the life she had chosen to live, what she had for breakfast, and on and on and on and on. Little fears that popped up every day and big ones that had been with her for years. Some she didn't even put into words normally, but just felt, ranging from a little discomfort to an irrational dread, as she tried to go about her life anyway, trying to just avoid whatever provoked them. The way big dogs made her nervous. The way part of her heard her mother's voice whenever someone said 'you did your best' and tensed up. The way she avoided all thai food after that one food poisoning incident. "Little quirks" that hardly felt little in the moment.
And as she recounted all those worries, those concerns, those anxieties, she felt each one sucked out of her head in turn, and she didn't remember it anymore. Each worry was scooped out of her and put into the box. Not just the worry but the thoughts of why she should be worried. Knowledge about what the worry was and why she had been concerned in the first place. Why even care about it? It wasn't just a relief, it was an inability to ever be worried about that again. With each one taken from her, she felt lighter, unburdened, like things were becoming simpler.
Maybe she was becoming simpler too. As she kept going, remembering unpleasantnesses, offering more thoughts she didn't want, she felt her mind emptying. Her eyes glazed over staring into this great box as a lazy smile crept across her face; it grew as her worries shrank. It felt so good to stop worrying about... all that stuff. It wasn't gone, it was just in the box. She didn't need to worry about it. She didn't need to worry about anything. She couldn't worry about anything anymore; she had poured all her worries into the box. Like it was made for. All her worries and cares and thoughts that weren't helping her feel good. And now she did feel good.
Debbie blinked and finally looked away from the box, still vacantly grinning. She felt so much better now. She had nothing to worry about. Nothing to distract her from feeling good. She stretched, and shook out the stiffness from sitting there with the box for...however long it had been.
Things felt...
(Unhurried, she sat and searched for the word.)
Clearer.
Un-cluttered.
Un-complicated.
It felt like there had been so much stuff in her head making things so hard and complex and now... now it was not. Now it was blissfully simple. Now she just wanted to feel good. Now there was no reason not to.
