Who is Operating Your Brain? - 11/9

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pkaushik
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RE: Who is Operating Your Brain? - 11/9

Postby pkaushik » Wed Nov 24, 2010 5:43 pm

I didn’t ask to live inside Miss P’s brain. I mean really it wasn’t my choice in the first place and having lived in this hell for the past 30 years, I can tell you it would have been much better for me to reside in Miss D’s brain instead. It would have been an idle man’s vacation. Well Miss D is Miss P’s friend, dumb as an ass if you ask me. It is so easy to wheel her around. I could have dozed off for a few hours in a day. I have seen her standing in her balcony just staring at the sky for hours.

Hey hold on, Miss P is waking up. And now she is rushing to the bathroom. If you cannot believe a woman can get ready for work, pack her one-year-old son’s lunch and get him ready as well, and do all this in just 15 minutes, you need to exchange places with me for once to see this. She is pushing little boy’s feet into his shoes and he is crying. Now why don’t you buy a new pair of shoes for the baby, I ask? I mean he is a baby; he will be outgrowing his shoes every few months. Miss P doesn’t have time to go to the mall. I have seen her telling her friends. So I say, why not cut down on some of your workload?

Now she is flooring the gas pedal. Gently madam, there is a baby in the car. After she has dropped her baby to the day-care, she runs to get a coffee. I have seen people running to catch a bus or a train but really not to buy a coffee from a stationary coffee cart. Then she goes to a side-cart and puts a lot of cream and four bags of sugars in her coffee. She is now walking to her hospital clutching her lab-coat. Did I tell you she is a doctor? First of all I don’t like doctors, always bothering innocent patients by asking millions of questions and then embarrassing them by undressing them. Sometimes they even poke needles in their arms and once I saw her poking in someone's back where the spine is.

Now Miss P is presenting something to an audience. So this is what she was preparing till 3 AM. Why can’t one sleep in the night, I ask? Why do people have to live such a busy life that even their sleep is sacrificed? Not just theirs but even of this poor little guy who is forced to live in their brain. I can’t sleep if the lights are on. I think people liked her presentation. They are shaking hands with her and using a lot of good and nice words. Miss P seems happy but do I see some redness in her eyes and a shade of darkness beneath them? She is sitting on the computer and working on one of her research projects. She has so many projects that I loose track of them.

It is 5:30 PM. When are we going to pick the baby from the day-care? Gosh, she will again leave at quarter to 6 and run to reach the day care before it closes. Why can’t this woman do anything slowly, calmly, coolly and gently? If you think I have any power or control over her, you are wrong. There used to be a time when we controlled human minds. Things are running too fast for us to control them now. I helplessly watch this lady rotting away her beautiful life with work and deadlines. If there is anyone who suffers beside me here, it is the little boy of hers who is pushed away either to watch TV or play with his toys so his mom can remain glued to her laptop. Ok she feeds and bathes him and changes his diapers. But tell me, is this life about mechanically doing things while your mind is busy chasing some nebulous dreams?

Miss P has opened her laptop again and it is 10 PM. Hey don’t tell me it will be another night-out tonight. I am dead tired. Why is she opening a blank word document and what is she typing on it vigorously? Gosh is she going to do some creative writing again? Such a waste of time if you ask me.

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Re: Who is Operating Your Brain? - 11/9

Postby LittleEden » Thu Nov 25, 2010 4:03 am

pkaushik, I found your work a interesting and easy read - easy is important to me. Not only was it a different take on the prompt it rang true to the way we live our lives - in the fast lane.

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Re: Who is Operating Your Brain? - 11/9

Postby pkaushik » Thu Nov 25, 2010 8:06 am

Little Eden,
Thanks for reading my post.

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Re: Who is Operating Your Brain? - 11/9

Postby Love2_Write » Sat Nov 27, 2010 4:04 pm

1: Morning

Aw, I really hate controlling such a bitch, but it's my job. "Dream #11,999, master?" A short man with facial hair, bright eyes, and a forever-puckered mouth polietly taps me on the wrist as I sit in my controlling chair, wishing I could sleep along with Chantel at nighttime. And then I laugh, reminding myself that we are robust, and we don't sleep, and she's going to wake up in half an hour. This is my right-hand man, standing patiently next to me in a tuxedo, pad of paper ready and a pen tucked behind his ear. Dominick. His short, spiky black hair is a reminder that I want to make Chantel get a new hairstyle--platinum blonde was cute when you were in high school, but it gets annoying after a few years.

"Is that one a nightmare?" I growl in reply, busy flicking at controls. I'm planning ahead, so I don't have to give everything to Chantel right on the spot; making so many decisions at once gives her headaches, and sometimes I just don't see them coming. Boy, are her migranes hell!

Dominick shakes his head slowly, showing his teeth in what I believe to be a grimance.

He backs away as I hiss through my teeth. "Then give her #999,000 and leave me alone!" Dominick scurries away, muttering things like, "yes, right away," and "of course."

"Let's see," I talk to myself as I work, attempting to make Chantel stop smiling for once, today. I swear, I'm tempted to go down to those muscles over there and complain, 'cause they're working overtime and they are cramping my style. "I'll have her get coffee at right at 7:05, five minutes after she wakes. And then, I'll make her spill it. And she'll slip on it in her rush to do something which she'll only just remember, yell a curse, and then clean. As soon as she's finished she'll shower, only to remember she has to wake the baby--"

2: Afternoon

Everything has gone as planned; Chantel's morning has been eventful, but this cheerful little sucker hasn't stopped smiling. Her lunch break has just started, and the skinny imbecile jogs over to McDonald's--she eats as she pleases and never gains weight, although she hardly ever stoops to McDonald's. I almost surprised myself by making the decision to go there, except I never get surprised.

"Order large fries, do it." I whisper.

Chantel pretends to ponder her meal, and then says, "I'll have large fries."

I peer through my peephole and catch the fat lady who has too much make-up on saying, "Would you like fries with that," from behind the cashier. I bark a laugh. Her operator must be a moron, or must enjoy making her look like one.

"Bristle. Act indignant, demand fries, ask for bottle water to go with it, and then slam down a hundred dollar bill to make 'em hurry. tell them to keep the change before you take your money and shove it up Wendy's ass." I peep through my hole again, read the lady's name tag, and assure myself that her name is Wendy before I press 'send'.

Chantel's an amazing listener. Some try to resist; she doesn't. How splendid. "Excuse me, are you trying to mock me? Now, give me fries, get me a bottle of water to go with it, and do it now!" Chantel slams down a bill in her fury; $100, as planned. "Keep the change, before I take this and shove it up your ass--" she reads the name tag, "--Wendy!"

"Yes, yes!" Wendy bustles off, almost tripping in her earnest to get Chantel's order. Unfortunately, the fast food joint is next to empty; barely a few elderly people are there to chuckle and applaud. It's a shame, Chantel has no audience. Her order arrives, and Chantel takes it crisply with a 'thank-you.'

Wendy's fat pink lips force a smile. "Have a nice day!" she calls, and Chantel and I exit.

I make her hum songs by Beyonce as she click-clacks back to the office with lunch.
Oh, what fun it is to control a blonde with a temper!

3: Evening

"Pick up Michelle, your daughter, and then drive home and order take-out. You're tired. And then, put her to bed next to you and pray that your husband gets out of that army alive." I instruct, worn out.

Chantel obeys, and by the time we're home I'm so exhausted I actually sit back and watch her instinct take control, which I rarely do. I'm not lazy, like certain Controllers I know.

She heads straight for the laptop after putting Michelle in front of the T.V, and opens a word document. Too late, I wish I hadn't made such a mistake.

"Oh no!" I groan. Creative Writing is any Controllers nightmare. Now I have to spend at least an hour in front of a word document that will ultimately, remain empty. "Thanks, Instinct. I'm gonna get you..."

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RE: Who is Operating Your Brain? - 11/9

Postby Nir_Roses » Mon Dec 06, 2010 3:02 pm

Oh, holy crap!

Remember how a couple of weeks back Plinky prompt wanted me to write about what I'll do in my final pre-meteor hours? (The ones who missed it can read it here) Today is not different. Well, technically it is, considering the fact that I'm using Writer's Digest prompts instead of Plinky. Nonetheless, today my task is to pretend that there is a small man/woman operating the control system of my brain and write about my day from his/her perspective.

Before proceeding further ahead I think I'm obliged to inform you that I dismissed typing down the natural response which would spring out from one's mouth for this type of 'dumb' question, "How the hell am I to know?", after giving it much thought, just to save the fun in this and obviously because I don't have anything worthwhile to put my head into! Okay, okay, you sweet little prompts, no need to sob and sniff! I was only mocking you calling you 'dumb'! In fact I find this imaginary power quite impressive for an artificial intelligence like you and hell NO, there's no chance for you to loose your mind, panic, get livid, then undergo explosions and palpitations inside you causing severe destruction in your work flow, further more making you incompatible in this environment, violating the service contract we entered into for you to serve my blog as its temporary Oxygen Tank till my own imagination wakes up from its 4359656106 years of sleep and finally strike me! Phew! I know! That was long! My stars are showing the signs that I'm not far from going to the Guinness Book of World Records for writing the longest sentence in the world!

Anyway getting back to the point, I think I must also make it clear that this 'pretending' is one of my favourite past times, since engaging in intelligence conversations once in a while is a deemed to be a primary need for every human being, but unfortunately something which I lack in real life given the wealth of knowledge my peers inherit, even when taken as a bunch does not exceed the size of a peanut!

And I know that I'm bound to choose a gender for that small thing which operates my daadi daadi daa, where I think I'm better off with a man, again, proving why the fact opposites attract is pretty much self-explationary! Perhaps with that I shall let the small man do the talking and shut myself for good!

Oh my god! Thank you! Did you see that? For a second I thought she'll continue like forever! May be she wanted to give a long introduction as a bonus in this festive season! But hello, I really don't know why it never occurred to her we are having a space crisis here! I mean, I have to sum up her all day's work AND evaluate it, where 'impossible' is already out of the equation!

Anyway heading myself into the strenuous job...

Hooray! Hooray! She read 49 pages of "To Kill a Mockingbird" book today! (And that kind of rhymes! A bit!) I thought she would have finished it by now, the way she bought 4 books, stocked them inside her cupboard nicely wrapped in cloths and sighed every night before going to bed looking at them cos she had made this solemn promise to self that she won't put her hands on them till she is done with exams. Now that she has finished her exam, I don't know what's wrong with her, grinning with the 3 books inside without reading them! See... She shows clear indications of turning herself into a lazy bum!

And surprise, she has turned into the biggest fan of the American sitcom "The Big Bang Theory". After completing watching 3 seasons within 3 days, now she dreams of Sheldon even in broad day light!

At the mean time, good for you all, she is weighing the pros and cons of initiating another blog, dedicated to travel, named "Fasten Your Seat Belts, Get Ready For a Bumpy Ride" where she is planning to publish her discoveries in the already discovered land, Malaysia, if she gets lucky enough to fly over there to play (or rather pretend to play!) an Inter University Chess Tournament (more than that, if the Malaysians get lucky enough to have her slender touch there) on the coming weeks. So keep your fingers, toes and eyes crossed for her! (I mean, mostly for the Malaysians whose world is yet to be rocked with her presence!)

With that I think I'll have to wrap around for today cos those are the spicy juicy happening of her day! It's a bliss to write to you all for the first time! Hope another prompt where I have to play a major part will come on her way soon! Till then, toodles!

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Re: Who is Operating Your Brain? - 11/9

Postby nddan467 » Tue Dec 07, 2010 11:21 am

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate the job. I do. Really. And it’s not that I want to sound ungracious. It’s just that. Well. Ok, and I’m being completely honest here. It’s just . . . did they have to assign me to the smelly guy? I’ve paid my dues. But it’s ‘Mark, take the smelly guy.’ Or, ‘why don’t you work with Ms. Goat Farmer.’ Every time! I mean, take a bath! That’s all I ask. The Romans had to build stone aqueducts. All he has to do is step into the bathroom and turn a little nob. Is it really that difficult. And I try. Really I do. See, yesterday even, I made him ‘remember’ to buy soap while grocery shopping. It was the good stuff too. Axe. Smells so wonderful. I thought, you know, maybe if he just had some soap, then, bam, magically he would take a bath. No. You know what he did? He got home. Unpacked his groceries. Realized he had bought soap. And this is the kicker. He returned it! I just can’t . . . Twenty-two years of this! Nope. And that, Marge, is why I quit.”

It was only the third time this week Mark had threatened to quit. A light week really. Marge, the manager of the prefrontal lobe, tapped her pen expectantly on her desk. She just had to wait it out. Eventually they all run out of steam, and then its back to work. But things needed to get done. It was almost time for the pre-get out of bed scratch, a crucial point in any day. “We all know you’re not going to quit, Mark. Just go back and take your shift.”

“No. Nope. Nada. Nunca. I can’t do it.” Mark was on the verge of tears. “It’s not gonna happen. Please. Please. Can you just make him put on some cologne.”

Marge was willing to make a slight concession, if only to get the day started. “Ok. How about this? Mr. Smelly gets a cold. Then you won’t be able to smell him for a few weeks. Fair enough?”

“Fine. But don’t think this is the end of this. It isn’t. I’m going to the top next time. That’s right. All the way to the medulla. Then we’ll see who wins. Oh, yes.” Mark walked off to start the day. Marge was sure she’d see him again around five.

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Re: Who is Operating Your Brain? - 11/9

Postby nddan467 » Tue Dec 07, 2010 11:21 am

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate the job. I do. Really. And it’s not that I want to sound ungracious. It’s just that. Well. Ok, and I’m being completely honest here. It’s just . . . did they have to assign me to the smelly guy? I’ve paid my dues. But it’s ‘Mark, take the smelly guy.’ Or, ‘why don’t you work with Ms. Goat Farmer.’ Every time! I mean, take a bath! That’s all I ask. The Romans had to build stone aqueducts. All he has to do is step into the bathroom and turn a little nob. Is it really that difficult. And I try. Really I do. See, yesterday even, I made him ‘remember’ to buy soap while grocery shopping. It was the good stuff too. Axe. Smells so wonderful. I thought, you know, maybe if he just had some soap, then, bam, magically he would take a bath. No. You know what he did? He got home. Unpacked his groceries. Realized he had bought soap. And this is the kicker. He returned it! I just can’t . . . Twenty-two years of this! Nope. And that, Marge, is why I quit.”

It was only the third time this week Mark had threatened to quit. A light week really. Marge, the manager of the prefrontal lobe, tapped her pen expectantly on her desk. She just had to wait it out. Eventually they all run out of steam, and then its back to work. But things needed to get done. It was almost time for the pre-get out of bed scratch, a crucial point in any day. “We all know you’re not going to quit, Mark. Just go back and take your shift.”

“No. Nope. Nada. Nunca. I can’t do it.” Mark was on the verge of tears. “It’s not gonna happen. Please. Please. Can you just make him put on some cologne.”

Marge was willing to make a slight concession, if only to get the day started. “Ok. How about this? Mr. Smelly gets a cold. Then you won’t be able to smell him for a few weeks. Fair enough?”

“Fine. But don’t think this is the end of this. It isn’t. I’m going to the top next time. That’s right. All the way to the medulla. Then we’ll see who wins. Oh, yes.” Mark walked off to start the day. Marge was sure she’d see him again around five.

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Rules to Continuity

Postby RenaissanceLuvr » Sun Jan 16, 2011 6:33 pm

Damn it! Wake up...good. Now, when you get out of bed you nee--for Chrissake I said get UP! We really need to get on those sensory hydraulics. In fact, why don't you give him the occasional migraine. That will get his blood flowing. I don't get paid enough for this. Hell, I'm simply subjective. Why should I be rewarded? Well now, enough of this complaining. Goodness...Phil! Why is he picking his nose again? What did we teach him about preserving identity in our thirty-third seminar? Get that fixed before he leaves out.

I'm feeling pretty peachy this morning. Let's spice things up a little. It is Thursday after all. All right, um, go for the French toast sticks today. No, cereal is just empty calories. Yes, I know French toast is sweeter but at least he can eat with some class. Don't argue with me. You are so difficult. They told me emotions wouldn't be a problem for this one. "He's fine," they told me. "Of course he isn't concerned with human elements. Relationships, love, no he doesn't care about them." G'damn liars are what they are.

Okay, now we must do this flawlessly: prepare to place the Public Facade on in a few moments. No, no, no, you are not being fake! Simply...artificial. Keeping your dignity, if you will. Yes, why do you think we keep playing these subliminal messages for you? Well if we let you remember most of your dreams, things would be getting very ugly up here. It's hard enough keeping reign of your wretched ideas when they aren't connected to your dreams. Actually, they are my dreams and I just choose to expose you to them. You should be thankful, you know? Ahh, but I digress. Forward to school in five, four, three, two...

Finally home! School is rather monotonous, isn't it? I know you enjoyed it. I could never fully grasp why you felt compelled to pursue a challenge. Damn masochist is what you are. It's no easy work dealing with all this work. Keep it up and I may just have to resign earlier than you might want. Don't look at me like that--you know I'll still love you. What would you do without me? Nothing. Oh, delightful! You're playing Bach...or is that Johannsson? It is! Such well-refined and aesthetic compositions. See, you can at least make some good decisions on your own accord. Continue this and you may be making your own playlists soon! Well, soon it will be time for us to retire for the night. Phil, place him in the Abstract setting. Um, for tonight why don't you let him think in terms of colors and existensialism? You think Marxism is better? Good point. Back it up with cellos and a piano, will you? I owe you one.

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Re: Who is Operating Your Brain? - 11/9

Postby Trissa » Sun Jan 23, 2011 11:31 am

"You're probably wondering why I called this meeting. As CEO of Trissa, Inc. I feel our organization needs..well, it could use some tweaking."

"Excuse me, Madam Ego, but by tweaking I take it you really mean a major overhaul of the system."

"Yes, Conscience. Things have been slowly falling apart over the years and we need to shake things up."

"Do you think she's really up to it? I mean, we're working with a...how can I put this delicately. A vintage system."

"True," Eyes shuddered. "Our optometrist said we don't need new glasses, but our vision gets blurry at night and the ducts are leaking."

"Sorry," sniffled Sinus, "but it's the season. We need to remind her to take those allergy tabs the doc prescribed."

"I'm working on that," Memory said. "But they slow the system down even more. Yesterday it nodded off sitting at the computer!"

"Listen, it's almost time for that alarm to go off. We need to work together on this. No snooze button this morning, okay?"

"I'll try," moaned Conscience. "But it seems almost everything falls to me these days. Knowing right from wrong. Good from bad. I can only work with the materials on hand."

"Maybe I'll bring up another shot at exercise next time she stops in front of the mirror," Ego suggested.

"And that's up to me again. Eyes, Smell, Taste; you guys have to help out. I can't always control what she sees in the fridge. Smell and Taste, you guys often work in tandem. If it smells good, it tastes good."

"And how are we supposed to control what she looks at?" Asked Eyes. "We all go to the grocery store, but it comes down to Desire when she puts it into the cart."

Desire rolled her own eyes. "Watch it or I'll urge her to smack that snooze button more than once."

"I can't allow that," Ego roared. "We have an important interview and can't afford to be late."

"I almost forgot," Memory mumbled. "That job at the town hall. That would be sweet."

"We need a new wardrobe for that," Desire piped up.

Ego leaned forward. "But we can't do that until we've dropped a couple of pounds."

"And we can't drop those couple of pounds with these recent appetite surges."

"My bad," chimed in Mood. "That time of month again."

"I thought we were heading toward menopause?"

"That's the problem with that stage of life. It takes awhile to settle in. It could take a couple of years before we're out of the woods."

"Great. Just great," Mood cried. "I'm getting dizzy from all this swinging around. You've got to decide something, Ego, soon or this lady will never get out of bed."

"That always happens with stress."

"And then we're back to eating," Taste and Smell chimed in together. "This is getting to be a vicious circle."

"YOU CAN HAVE HER...I DON'T WANT HER. SHE'S TOO FAT FOR ME..."

Hearing screamed, "Who overrode my decision and told her to turn on the Polka station?"

Taste cowered behind Smell and peeked over her shoulder. "She was getting tired of that easy listening station. It made her want to climb deeper into the covers."

Eyes blinked rapidly and gave a little shriek of alarm. "Oh, Lord help us all."

Ego rose, towering over the other senses. "Enough of this quibbling. We have to work together as a team. Let's get to our work stations. We've got another new day ahead of us and from what the Eyes are telling me it's another bad hair day."

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RE: Who is Operating Your Brain? - 11/9

Postby prking01 » Sun Jan 23, 2011 4:55 pm

TURN OVER, TURN OVER, NOOOOOOOWWWW, CLOSE YOUR EYES, PRETEND YOU'RE STILL ASLEEP......too late! Idiot! I heard them coming, but did she listen? NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! I could've used some extra zzzzzzzz's, especially since we were up half the night practicing creative writing, but now we're up.
I could've at least used my morning coffee before all her kids barged in demanding to be fed. That's the thing with kids - you have to feed 'em everyday over and over and over again. They never stop eating. Meanwhile she feeds us a candy bar. Duh woman, if you're cooking anyway why not eat better yourself???

One would assume that from my position inside her brain that I would have a bit more power or control, but I don't. I know she has a brain, cause that's where I live, but she never uses it. Her days are spent washing dishes, wiping snotty noses, doing at least 4 loads of laundry, scrubbing toilets, waxing floors, polishing furniture, and cooking about 2,000 times for these needy little people who apparently never stop eating. Until her health worsened she was restaurant manager telling others what to do, but now she was the unpaid hired help. What a wasted life.

Finally! They're all fed for the moment and we get to sit down and have our coffee. YES! Wait. Never mind, there's the candy bar. For a minute there I thought she was actually going to eat a real breakfast, but of course there was no real food left after her kids tore through the kitchen.

I'll stop complaining for a moment and enjoy our coffee. This is my favorite time of day. We sit back in the recliner and she daydreams about all the things she wants in life. I love fantasty time! We get to sleep in. We have maids, butlers, and nannies to help care for the kids. We're rich after selling our 11th best-seller in a row. MGM is even talking movie deal. Can you believe it?

MOMMY!!! MOMMY!!!! MOMMY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
*&%* it's back. It's her youngest son and apparently his brother took the x-box controller away from him - AGAIN. So much for fantasty time. Now we are a referee (something we do a lot of). Hmmm....maybe we could get a job in a wrestling arena. She has the experience and apparently the stamina to deal with it. I'll pass that thought along to her the next chance I get.

10 am - "Mommy, we're hungry."
NOON - "Mommy, we're hungry."
2 pm - "Mommy, we're hungry."
This goes on all day, every 2 hours like an internal timer in their stomach going off. Who are these little people and how do they stay so little when they consume so much? When they aren't screaming to be fed they're arguing. I know if it wasn't for me she'd be insane by now, in a straight jacket, tucked away behind locked doors in a padded room.

Just a thought but perhaps I'm the crazy one. That padded room thing is startin' to sound pretty good. We could live in fantasy land 24 hours a day there.

The rest of the evening is a combination of cooking dinner, washing up the dishes, refereeing more arguments, and so on and so on. Her husband arrives home at 6:00. He sits in his recliner in front of the big screen television. She carries his supper to him. When he's finished she retrieves his dishes and promptly washes them. They spend a couple of minutes catching up on what bills need paid - boring. Enough of the adult time, she's back to being alone with the kids again.
They do the homework that's been put off all weekend, take baths, pack school lunches, and brush their teeth. She finally gets them in bed at 10:30 p.m. For the first time since our morning coffee fantasy we get to sit uninterrupted. We hear them in their beds talking to one another but we choose to ignore the noise. The world is blocked completely out. Reality has gone bye-bye temporarily. It's a peaceful feeling until they all decide they need a drink of water.
I knew it was coming. She's ready to pull her hair out. She begins to scream, "Get a drink of water and get your rearend back in bed, NOW!!!!" The kids look at her with no fear, their faces are covered with smirks. They are laughing at their victory.
The next half hour is a frenzy of back and forth activity telling the little ones to shut their mouths or they'll be grounded for the rest of their life. They know the threats are idle. They know their mother is not going to punish herself by grounding them. They are perceptive.

Midnight - She crosses her fingers and visits their room; hoping, praying they are asleep. It worked. Look at them lying there so peaceful and so quiet. She kisses their foreheads forgetting about the day she's had. The youngest looks up, wraps his arms around her neck, squeezes, "I love you Mommy", he sleepily replies. "I love you too, my angel," she replies.

I feel a calmness rush throughout her body. The busy day is forgotten with that one small gesture. It doesn't matter that her health problems keep her from working a real job or that her life is now reduced to that of an unpaid, overworked, and underappreciated slave. She feels loved and somehow that gets her through the life she has.

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