She is on her second glass of wine, maybe her third. The empty bottle is on the counter. I don’t know if the bottle was full when she started. Or if someone else had a glass. The doctor has told her not to have any alcohol. I wonder why she won’t listen. People are set in their ways, I suppose. 

I pull the heat pack out of the microwave and walk over to the couch to lie with it underneath my back. Looking up at the ceiling, I see it—the beam in my own eye. I laugh to myself. The doctor has told me not to work so much. I stood up at my desk and worked all night tonight. I am set in my ways, I suppose.