It had been a while now.
Not that she even knew.
Donna Noble’s life dragged on.
She had a brightly shining resume of temp jobs since 18, but also over 40 years of age that had her set aside for so much younger workers. It left her at home and watching TV, following Brangelina and QI, meaninglessly crying over Discovery episodes on the Spoetnik sometimes. When she then curled up on the couch, overtaken by the headache that would only leave through thinking distracting happy thoughts, she thought of Shaun, a life, and children, two things she never asked for, as she could never shake the brittle, baseless feeling that just a car crash hadn’t been the end of her and Lance.
Two parents on the dole could not support a daughter, either way.
So she went about town and cut coupons, remembered the sales at the Sainsbury’s and Asda’s like the dreaded housewife she never hoped to be, and watched her life just pass her by as nothing ever came of it.
Her dreams and granddad kept her from depression.
It was a slightly out of ordinary day, for she decided to get coffee after buying Sylvia the eggs she had forgotten. Tea was more her flavor, but could not save her from feeling so limp, so she went to the usual café to do something exactly that unsusual.
When she thanked the surprised and familiar waiter for her drink, she wondered if there were people who got to do this every day — coffee or tea, a choice for no real reason, curing the fatigue of the everyday slump the spontaneous probably did not even know.
She’d like to be, but was too scared.
Tired, she dropped her head to the windowsill, cold fingers steaming at the mug.
Courage was all you needed for adventure, but she quite simply had none.