Opsjednuta

"I'm depressed," said Marijana and lowered her head to her chest. Her long brown hair framed her face, she played with her wedding ring in her lap, her legs tucked under her. She didn't feel like getting up and making her friend coffee. "Everything tires me out, I have no ideas, I feel empty and tired," she added. "To make matters worse, I can't even have sex, I have candida again," she added sadly, twisting a lock of hair around her finger. "It's nothing," said Sanja, "I'm suicidal. In the morning I make coffee, say Salutations to the Sun, pour myself orange juice, drink it and sit down and cry. Then I play the music we listened to together and cry even more, then I go to the bathroom to clean myself up and see my puffy and swollen face and only then do I cry. You know my birthday is in two weeks? My thirtieth!"

"Good for you," said Marijana. "I'm 34 and I feel like an old corpse. Women at that age in the Middle Ages were already dying, you know? 2-3 hours of aerobics are no longer enough for me to reduce the ring around my stomach, and after three drinks I'm completely unconscious the second day... and look at these eyes," Marijana leans over the table and avoids Sanja, who stoically holds her gaze: "Sorry, but they're the same as always. What do you want? You look good for your age, you have a great husband and your yeast infection will probably go away, put Nystatin vaginal tablets on, anyway. Do you know when I last had sex, do you?