I've gone back to reread your words. It's an amazing story that tells a truth.

Years ago, when I was an adolescent, my mother made friends with the woman who lived across the street. My mother had a way of adopting lost souls. We would visit this woman in the middle of the day. Her curtains were drawn. The room was dark, except for the glare of the television, which was on nonstop. The woman spent her days in front of that TV. I don't remember ever seeing her outside the apartment. I couldn't describe that apartment to you, because it was so dark in there. Her children would come and go. The backstory to all of this, I learned (was it true?) was that her husband was in prison. She had effectively imprisoned herself.

Your story captures my experience with that woman who lived across the street. There is so much truth in your words, although I'm not sure where the line is between boredom and depression.