Sight

Joanna sighed, dropping into her chair like a stone. "I hate this," she hissed. She felt the heaviness of life within and without ... loathed how it held her back (entirely of her own doing). "I really hate this." It was actionable, all of it; Joanna knew that she could release the past, make amends, end the glorification of busy, ground herself in reality and stay there, stop all of the lying and subterfuge once and for all, but ... it was hard (surprisingly hard). "And yet," she whispered, feeling a glimmer of hope as she looked around, "I see what the problems are, and seeing is a gift - a dark gift, but a gift nonetheless. I am a Marley after all." The Sight showed her chains and padlocks and cashboxes everywhere as she sat for a moment in her living room. "Once you see a thing, you have a chance to fix it or leave it," she sighed (with a bit of resolve arriving). “I wear the chain I forged in life,” she heard her forebear say. “I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it. Is its pattern strange to you?” "Fuck," she exhaled, raising a glass to her family ghost.