Mary Senter writes in a cabin in the woods on the shores of Puget Sound. She earned certificates in literary fiction writing from the University of Washington and an M.A. in strategic communication from WSU. Her work can be found in Cleaver, SHARK REEF, Six Hens, FewerThan500, and elsewhere. She is the graphic designer for Crab Creek Review. Visit her at www.marysenter.com.
My hairdresser asked me, out of the blue, if I’d ever thought about driving off the road into a tree to avoid having to endure the day that lay in front of me. Who asks someone that? Doing so would be crazy, right? It meant potential death. It meant pain and anguish — possibly even paraplegia. It meant lengthy hospital stays, surgeries, and being bedridden for a time. It meant the inability to go to work. It meant respite from responsibilities. It meant rest. It meant a blissful break from the torture of everyday life. Of course I’d thought about it.
