At her place of work, the dispossessed person was stand-offish, and spent most of her time chatting on online message boards that promoted astral travel to other dimensions. Slight connection with fellow posters, those smiley faces that would respond to her occasional witticism1 were more or less all she had left of any kind of friendship.
Some nights, maybe three in the average week, she would drink half a bottle of wine and at first she would remember the early-period happiest times2 and then the mid-period happiest times, and then the heartbreaking final summer happiest times spent with her former friends, but these thoughts always spiraled into a deep despair that led her to look at the Facebook photos of her old friends and their babies in baptismal gowns. She would see groups of the old friends together, and some new girls, interlopers was how she thought of them (i.e., the new girls), even now that they had been friends with the dispossessed person’s former friends longer than the dispossessed person herself had even been friends with them, and she (i.e., the dispossessed person) realized that the way she was living was a sick way to live.
With each passing year she increasingly dreaded her birthday because on your birthday it is customary for everyone who has ever said a passing word to you to acknowledge your birthday on your Facebook profile with a friendly greeting. Her greeting numbers dwindled each year, but most of her core former friend group remained loyal in at least this perfunctory regard, although their messages were very basic and to-the-point, barely extending beyond the monosyllabic with “Happy Beeds!” and other niggardly, toss-off comments, all while she saw the same former friends posting long and involved, “I can’t wait till tonight it’s going to be wild….”-prefaced birthday messages on the walls of the interlopers when it was one of their (i.e., one of the interlopers’) birthdays.
And so it came to be that the dispossessed person joined a nunnery, not for the companionship of the sisterhood, nor even as a result of devout faith3, but simply to withdraw from society. It would reinforce the former friends’ assumptions that she had indeed gotten weird, and so the dispossessed person hoped they would forget about her altogether and the dispossessed person would not have to worry about Facebook Beeds messages or nightly dreams or the disproportionate happiness from friendship and the correlating warmth of FB public wall postings bestowed on the interlopers, whom she, in spite of her better instincts, had come to hate.
And but so it also happened that the sisters in the convent sensed the sort of sheep-killing dog elements of the dispossessed person’s persona until she began to feel that in their sisterly way they were distancing themselves from her emotionally as much as sisters in a convent could distance themselves emotionally from another sister in the convent (i.e., in this case the dispossessed person.)
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