Making Your Bed - 6/30

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RE: Making Your Bed - 6/30

Postby LotsMoPappa » Tue Jul 07, 2009 4:19 pm

Something startled me and I sat bolt upright in the bed. I was sweating from places I didn't know you could sweat but felt strangely cold. I looked at the clock – 3:15. I decided to go to the bathroom. It was just an excuse to have a look around the room. I didn’t really have to go. It was like walking through a tunnel just large enough for me. Everything seemed surreal. I reached the toilet, sat and waited. I had nothing to give. I was getting very sleepy again, so I made my way back to the bed and fell asleep within moments. When the alarm woke me at 6:00, I felt fine. No more sweating. No more disorientation. I was no longer tired, but I was scared. Something was wrong. There had to be a reason for what had happened. Mom, I didn’t want to worry you but my arms were very weak. I couldn’t face struggling with the covers. I went from home to the doctor’s office and, after a chest x-ray, blood work and a urinalysis, the doctor determined that I was just an idiot. I’m sorry Mom.

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Re: Making Your Bed - 6/30

Postby scarletscribe » Tue Jul 07, 2009 7:16 pm

“Yes Mom, I know my bed isn’t made this morning but I couldn’t help it.”
“No Mom, you have to listen before you punish me. Last night I went to bed just as you told me. I fell asleep almost immediately since I had pitched a double header in our Little League yesterday afternoon. I don’t know how I long I slept before I heard this weird noise that woke me up. When I opened my eyes, I realized I was no longer in bed but floating in midair above it.”
“Dreaming? No, I wasn’t dreaming. I was actually suspended above the bed. Then I started moving toward the window. I know you told me never to leave the window open but it was stuffy in my room, so I had opened it anyway. I felt myself being drawn upward as I floated through the window. I looked up to see a blinding light and…”
“Of course I’m sure I didn’t imagine it. I was wide awake. Anyway, this light drew me upward but it was so bright I couldn’t see anything. Gradually the light dimmed and I realized I was inside a room with metal tables. I couldn’t make out anything else in the room because of a strange haze that obscured anything was more than a few feet away. I floated over to one of the tables and was forced downward onto it.”
Clamps immediately enclosed my wrists, waist and ankles so that I couldn’t move. Funny looking creatures appeared out of the haze. I don’t remember anything after that until I woke up back in bed. I looked at the clock and realized that the alarm had gone off at least a half hour ago. So you see, I haven’t even had time to get completely ready for school yet.”
“Ah, Mom! I didn’t just make it up to get out of being punished. Here, see this red mark on my neck. That’s where they implanted their device. I’m not sure exactly what it does but I do know every time I try to make my bed I get a bad shock from it.”

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RE: Making Your Bed - 6/30

Postby SuperScribe » Wed Jul 08, 2009 7:45 pm

Geez. I’m 41 and my mother is still yelling at me to make my bed. Really, cut the umbilical, Mom.

“Gregory Thomas, why did you leave that bed in such disarray this morning?”

Disarray? Why can’t she just say it isn’t made?

“Mom, why don’t you get off my back? I’m 41 years old for crying out loud!”

“Son, when you can get, and keep a job for longer than two weeks, and when you can support yourself with a place to live, food, and your own bills, then I’ll get off your back. The fact that you’re 41 years old is EXACTLY my point!”

I rolled my eyes a little too much, apparently, because the next thing I knew, my mother slapped my left cheek so hard my face felt like it was on fire and my eyes were watering.

“Don’t you dare roll your eyes at me! Your father would roll over in his grave if he knew what I was putting up with from you! You live under my roof, eat my food, drive my car, and use my gas. I cook your food, clean and fold your clothes, and provide you with a place to live. The LEAST you can do is to keep your room looking neat, and that includes making your bed!”

There were tears in her eyes and a lifetime of pain and disappointment in her face as she turned her back and started down the narrow hallway. But, something made her stop, and she looked back at me.

Here it comes, I thought. She’s about to give me the whole story of how they raised me better than this and how I should be a man and take responsibility for my life. I’ve heard it all before. Do I have to hear it again?

“Son, I love you. And I want to help you, but its clear you don’t want my help, or my advice. If making your bed is such a difficult and menial task, you don’t have to do it anymore. But, you also cannot sleep here anymore. I’ll give you three days to find a place, and after that, I’ll be changing all the locks. I’m sorry.”

She started back down the hall stifling quiet sobs as she made her way to her bedroom and quickly closed the door.

I was about to say I’d make the stupid bed. I was about to remind her of everything I had done for her like changing the oil in her car and other junk like that. I started to yell at her that stress over her health is what killed my dad in the first place. Then the full weight of what my mother had just said hit me.

Even worse, I knew everything she said was right.

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RE: Making Your Bed - 6/30

Postby mynde_astray » Thu Jul 09, 2009 8:21 pm

I couldn’t make my bed because I had to go to the bathroom or else I would wet my bed. I got up and ran to the bathroom as fast as I could. When I got there, I almost overflowed the toilet. Then I got locked in the bathroom somehow. I couldn’t open the door. I pounded on the door. I shouted for help. I broke the shelf inside and tried to use it to pry the door open, and nothing worked. I had to use the toilet paper holder to break a hole in the floor and dig my way out.

Once I got through the floor and underneath the house, I was attacked by dogs. I don’t know how they got under the house, but there were at least 10 of them. It was dark and they were barking at me and trying to bite me. I still had the toilet paper holder and I kept swinging it at them as I tried to crawl out. I think something died underneath the house, mom. It really smelled bad underneath there. Anyway, the dogs didn’t like me trying to hit them with the toilet paper holder, so they left me alone.

I crawled out from under the house and came outside and my friends were riding by on their bikes. They thought I was playing some neat new game, so they asked if they could come in and I said OK! Then I remembered I had to ask for permission. So here I am, mom. Is it OK if my friends come play? By the way, the bathroom door is stuck, the floor is broken, something stinks under the house, and it would be rude if I had to make my bed right now since I have company. But I promise, I will make my bed and wash the stinky stuff off me as soon as they leave. I love you!

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Re: Making Your Bed - 6/30

Postby Peaceful Cactus » Thu Jul 09, 2009 8:52 pm

It was a morning not much different than any other. I was running a little late for school and, as usual, had to rush through my morning preparations and cereal. Books and lunch in hand, I was rushing out the door when intercepted by my mom.

“Did you make your bed?” she asked.

“Mom, my bed can’t be disturbed until I return this evening!”, I blurted.

“And why is that?”, in her best oily voice.

“The blankets miraculously display an image of Mary, Joseph and Baby Jesus in the stable!”, I exclaimed. “I’ve taken a photo and will post it on Ebay when I get to school. Should be worth thousands!!!”. Very quick thinking on my part, I thought smugly.

“I’d show you but I’m gonna be late for school!”, I shouted over my shoulder as I ran down the driveway.

That evening, I headed for the bedroom and found an air mattress on the floor and my bed was encircled by yellow “Caution” tape.

“Mom,” I yelled, “what’s going on with my bed?” I had already forgotten my words of that morning.

“Such an amazing thing, that miracle of the blanket image…” she said sweetly. "I knew you would wish other sleeping arrangements until you can sell it on Ebay!”

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RE: Making Your Bed - 6/30

Postby kayak » Fri Jul 10, 2009 4:22 pm

When I was eight my mother liked to eat bonbons. Every night, she’d sit in our old, beat-up recliner, brow furrowed in wretchedness, and pop them into her mouth like M&Ms; one after the other, a steady rhythm of tossing, chewing, swallowing and going back for more. When I was eight, she liked to go to sleep at nine in the evening and wake up at eleven in the morning, groggy and half-awake. Some nights when I was eight, she’d find the alcohol stash I always hid and drown herself in bottles of vodka and rum until she passed out. I’d sit there behind her, watching, waiting, and wishing that she’d stop.

When I was seven, my brother died.

I don’t know how, only that he did. When I asked, people looked at me as if I was a very sad and pitiful thing, as if I didn’t know. Because they wouldn’t tell me what happened. When I was eight my mother stopped talking.

I didn’t care though, or I pretended very well that I didn’t. My friends’ mothers took care of me, but I don’t think they knew what was wrong with my mom when I was eight. They invited me to dinner, asked about my school, and sent good wishes and cookies home to her.

When I was eight my mother never asked me to make my bed. When I was eight I didn’t need any creative excuses to get out of forgetting. When I was eight, I never made my bed.

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Re: Making Your Bed - 6/30

Postby Energized Aspirant » Sun Jul 12, 2009 5:19 pm

"I...I...well, you see, Mom, I just...see, the thing is...umm..." This was gonna take some quick thinking on my part--something I wasn't particularly skilled in doing. I didn't want to tell her the real reason my bed wasn't in perfect order like normal. Even if she'd listen, there's now way that she wouldn't question my sanity. It didn't help that it was already under scrutiny.
"I just didn't want to today, ok?"
"Oh? Well, then what did you feel was so important that you couldn't take three minutes out of you day to help your poor mother?"
Crap. The guilt trip. The reason,'s don't open your mouth...say anything, anything! just not--
"I had to bury the box."
"Box? What box?"
"The box I put my imagination in."
Now I've done it. Next stop: padded rooms and straight jackets.
"Your imagination?"
"On your walk to school, you will think about that answer. When you get home, I want the real reason. Here's your pop tart. I love you. Go."
Geez. I'm not looking forward to 3:30. She broke my pop tart.
The real reason? I buried my imagination. The lie that I would have otherwise told is buried with it. It will stay there--no matter how much the truth hurts me. I won't lie again...and now I can't.
It won't matter if I don't tell you why I decided to do this, right?
Ahh, fine...but I'm keeping it vague. Long story short: I lied.
So what, right? Well, that's what I used to think...until I told the lie that I thought no one would believe anyway...well, they did.
So, I put my imagination in a box and buried it. It's going to stay there.

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Re: Making Your Bed - 6/30

Postby kref » Mon Jul 13, 2009 8:47 am

We hoped Mom didn’t hear the crash and Barbie’s scream.

“Oops. Sorry,” I apologized to Barbie, even as I held my hand tightly against her mouth to keep her from shouting again.

It was too late. We could hear Mom storming the stairs. In seconds, the door swung open and she stood there surveying the mess. I quickly uncovered Barbie’s mouth. I didn’t want bullying added to the list of crimes for which I was about to be indicted.

“Why aren’t your beds made yet?” she bellowed. “It’s 10:00. And what is that mess,” she added, pointing to a scattering of broken pottery and coins in the center of the room.

“Remember when I told you that someday you’d get past your silly obsession with making beds?” I asked timidly. “Remember what you said?”

Mom just stood there, slowly tapping her feet and wearing her trademarked “you’re grounded forever” expression. She never cared to remember what she said in response to any of my frequent impertinences.

Barbie had no patience to wait for Mom to answer. “When pigs fly, Mommy. You said, when pigs fly.”

“Right,” I chimed in. “And that’s why we were practicing catapulting Barbie’s piggy bank. To show you”

Mom continued to stand there with a stern expression and her arms still crossed. However, her lips were quivering and a tear was running down her cheek, We knew she was struggling not to let us see that she was laughing hysterically inside.

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RE: Making Your Bed - 6/30

Postby ravenplume » Sun Jul 19, 2009 12:27 pm

As response to the prompt:

"Mother, I have but this to say to my actions; I am not at fault." Naturally, talking so would buy me time to come up with a reason. The mirror image, and creator, of myself stood with the look of disbelief in her eyes, and I found time was not something to waste.

"Explain," she hissed.

"You see, I woke up with a headache this morning, long before I would normally rise, and went to the bathroom to look at the many pain relievers dressing our shelves in a variety of greens, whites, and red -- by which was a dizzying display in my groggy spite -- and decided upon the weakest, for despite the magnitude being great enough to rouse me I have never required any stronger than so." Her tapping foot meant clearly that she didn't buy a word. I continued, unwaivering. "I returned to my bed and there slept a boy shrouded in shadowy clothes. At first, I questioned whether this had been a dream rather than any reality, but he moved in that time and was now staring at me through the black hair. As I could see, his pale eyes were staring back.

"I questioned him thouroughly, as you should be assured. But with him laying in my blankets, would it not be obvious taking charge would be an impossible feat? I remained diligent and firm, but the boy no older than I stubbornly declined. Instead, he curled back into his original shape and a snore enveloped the room. I was timid, but at the very same time steaming with rage of his deviation. Frustration took the place of me and I took him by the hand. I forced him out the door and he grudgingly left me to stand at the door with wonder in my head."

"I should give you a notebook so you might write these things down," my mother mused. She chuckled slightly, and turned to leave. I was in the clear, I was free! There had been less of a punishment than offered, and just before I could go out the door and celebrate my withstanding, a horrid sight befell me. "No, no, you are grounded. Staying inside. You must meet my friend's son. His name is Tauren."

That was when I would never lie again, for as I saw the tall, darkly dressed boy before me I imediatly took on the impression that if one lies, said lie comes back for them.

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Katrina Rychling
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RE: Making Your Bed - 6/30

Postby Katrina Rychling » Mon Jul 20, 2009 4:09 pm

I am going to wash my sheets today after school Mom, so it seemed silly to make my bed just to take them off later.


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