Writing exercise one- Solitary Thoughts.

The cards I use are the purple ones with orchids on them my mom and dad got as a wedding gift back when they used to play bridge all the time. The color has since faded, and in some cases the Latin names of the flowers are completely worn away, but they're still the only deck I can stand to play with.

The cards shuffle easily because they're quite exercised at the patterns of it- cut through, fold in, flip up, cut through, fold in, flip up. Those purple flower cards respond to my hand movements as if they were a living extension of myself, luckily since I have to shuffle them until I get it right. If I see a card in the pile, I have to do it again. That habit probably arose when I began to play solitaire as if it was part of my last judgement, and everything that could even be interpreted as cheating had to be done over until I got it perfect. This time I have to shuffle about ten times- I see the bottom card twice and then have to make sure its ok before I begin. At least this isn't one of those times where I have to make myself stop, and therefore I am able to lay out the cards after only a few minutes.

Solitaire is a pain to set up unless you're depressed. Usually, the prospect of setting up roughly half a deck of cards in a seven-row pattern seems meaningless, but when you're distraught or downcast, the counting is a welcome escape. ONE two three four five six seven, ONE two three four five six… My mind counts slower than my hands move, so used am I to the set-up of the board. When I am done, I have three dendrobiums, two phalienopsis, a paphiopedilum, and a random jungle species staring up at me. Horrid luck this game- I have mostly black cards and no aces. I straighten each pile intuitively until they are evenly space and lined up, then make my only move without my deck, putting an eight of hearts onto my nine of clubs to uncover a six. First rule of the game of solitaire- always make any moves first without picking up your deck.

My deck is desolate; the only thing I manage to get the first time around is an ace, which isn't useful right now anyway. I debate putting a two of spades onto my other red card, the three of diamonds to spice things up, but I'm afraid to break my second rule of solitaire; never use low cards until you absolutely are forced to. I go through my deck again, and find a seven of clubs to throw on my eight of hearts and a two of diamonds for my only ace. That helps a little, since it allows me to move my three of diamonds up and get the ace of spades, revealing yet another space. The game becomes more relaxed as my anxiety concerning my uncertain start dissipates and I sink into rhythm. Of course, my mind begins to stray to other things since my now only my hands are occupied. What am I going to do with them? They can't go on like this- Amy's practically psychotic and Kathy's even worse, and with the custody trial coming up next month I can't take this. They're my friends, of course, but I have to make a decision here, obviously I need to assume a more parental role with Amy. I know I can't touch Kathy, especially if they send her back to her mom's, but look, I need two sane children by the end of next month. That's not going to happen if Amy's cutting and Kathy… well…who knows how Kathy will end up. I forcibly turn my attention back to the game. I'm starting to win, I notice as if I was a casual observer rather than an obsessive player. I have one good straight going, king down to four with nothing underneath, but I'm still weak in that I need more red cards, which are probably hidden under my omnipotent black ones. I sift through the deck again and manage to scrounge a jack for the queen that magically appeared while I was debating with myself, and am about to move it to its place when I slip unwillingly into worry again.

I can't do this forever- at the end of this year we're all going to different schools, Kathy maybe even a different state. And remember what Ian said, that I'm burning out and my own life is suffering because I'm trying too hard to fix theirs. It's bordering on impossible to do anything with Amy without being a registered psychiatrist who's able to prescribe medication, and just as impossible to do anything with Kathy without being able to be at her trial. All I'm doing is listening and talking, and it's not getting anywhere at all. I might as well let things go their own course, since what I'm doing isn't that important anyway, and at this rate by the end of this year we'll have three crazy children, not just two.

The game is progressing at the same rate as if I had been giving it my full attention. Most of my cards are now in nice little piles, and the deck in my hand continues to grow thinner. I have all four aces lined up nicely and only three stacks of cards with any facedown cards under them. I've done a pretty good job, considering the hand I started out with.

I remember back when it used to be easy doing this. Amy wasn't a person; she was my online once a week patient. I would listen to her pessimistic viewpoints and I'd spew back my own optimistic ones and we'd talk for hours on end with elaborate philosophical debates. It didn't get serious until almost midnight spring break of last year, when she first told me the depths of her suicidal tendencies and I was able to take a stab at some of the underlying causes. It was work, yes, but it was almost fun, like something out of a novel. I would talk to some random fanfiction friends of mine about hooray, my suicidal friend Amy is getting a little better, and they'd congratulate us or offer suggestions. Now it's not even close to a game, it's a full-time job. I don't even know what to expect anymore with her- she'll be bouncing off the walls in happiness one day and cutting herself with paper clips the next. I came home after this week physically exhausted from trying my hardest to keep one of my best friends from hurting herself. I told my parents I'd had a hard day and slept for ten hours.

It's long past the climax of the game, where the cards seem to magically click together at my command. Now it's the long drawn out process of waiting for the one or two cards I can use. I keep track in my head of how many more times I have to probe through my shallow deck, knowing that since I'm only one card away from multiples of three, I have to go through every card to get to a certain one again. It's dull work, but the only way to win.

Kathy was never easy, even right from the start. Then again, neither was her life. She isn't like Amy; her problems aren't built on being genetically prone to random mood disorders. With her parents divorced and her father how he is, she'd be long dead if she was prone to mood disorders. Even without that added commodity, she's already coming close, dead in spirit at least. As she cried to me on the phone the other night, I marveled at her strength of will. She's been through hell and is plunging headfirst into it again, come close to suicide… and yet here she is, still here talking to me. I wish more than ever I could say the magic words she deserves, the magic words that would make it all go away. As she cried to me on the phone, I sat on my couch with my two loving parents in the other room and cried bitter sobs of unfairness and helplessness.

I'm coming down to the final ten cards in my deck. It looks like I'm going to win; it looks like I have to win at this point. I have three good straights, nice fat stacks of monochromatic cardboard on my ace piles. It's coming down to those last ten orchids, and whatever order they're in is going to determine the fate of the game.

It's getting harder than it's ever been before. Kathy's custody trial is looming like the Huns preparing to invade China, and it's going to be as fearful and gruesome as any ancient battle. And Amy's only getting worse- her mood swings are picking up speed and who knows whether I'll be able to do anything about it. Ian's right, I don't need this kind of stress, but I also do need it. I cannot abandon them now, when if they ever needed me at all, they'll need me now. Even if I wanted to, which I don't at all, I wouldn't be able to let them go and still be able to stand myself. I've got to see this through, even if all I'm there for is a listening ear.

The last ten faded purple orchid cards fall exactly wrong. I get rid of four without any trouble, but the last six have stacked themselves completely against me. There's nothing I can do- even a solitaire grand master, if such a thing exists, couldn't win with this hand.

I lay my head on the cards and close my eyes. So close. So fucking close.

But there's nothing I can do.