She can't move, she's tried, but her body fails to do what her brain is telling it to. Multiple times she has begun to wonder if she's having an out of body experience, becoming paralyzed and unable to move for fear that something else will go wrong. She can't move, she's tried to force her eyes to resolve taking in something other than the television flashing the news in front of her eyes; she's tried to take the damn thing off of repeat, but the damn channel won't change – she wonders if she's even successfully pushed her finger into the remote.
Her eyes are wide with despair and her fingers linger on her lips in an attempt to keep them from trembling, regardless of how disastrous the entire thing is. Her couch has a Teddy Altman shaped hole in it from being unable to move for hours on in and the couch may very well be swallowing her whole (not that she'd particularly have any issues with that at the moment). The phone clutched to her chest rings out in an angry dial tone that has drowned out into the distance and entwined with the sullen voices of the reporter from the television.
Blackbird, she thinks suddenly; they used to roll the windows down in the car the entire way home to Virginia while they were in college and scream the lyrics to Blackbird until their throats ached. She racks her brain for the lyrics, grasping for some kind of memory to replace this one – something that can blur this out so it won't repeat until she can't even close her eyes. Her silent prayer falls on deaf ears as nothing else except the sound of the dial tone permeates her brain.
She doesn't have any answers. She can barely even remember how own name. Now, she is a blackbird on a lonely wire.