Ana exhales a solid “fuck it.” A pulse of relief travels through her body, releasing the web of anxiety knots tethering her to the past and future. She is released into the present.
“Fuckkkkkkkk iiiiiiiit,” she affirms, bathing in this calm sense of self.
A small fear creeps in that she will not be present forever.
She sees her ego, sitting in a dark corner of her psyche, diminutive in comparison to the large desk and chair it sits in, crunching numbers desperately to predict its bottom line. Ana’s natural reaction is to curse her ego, but that would be like cursing out the hardest working, dumbest, most frantic (and borderline mentally ill) employee in the building. Compassion and love is the only natural course of sentiment.