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It is midnight and a butterfly is trapped in my room. I see it fly over the ceiling and it hides in my bookshelf. I think it got stuck between the books. I tiptoe across the room. I am very quiet.
But the butterfly isn’t there. I think the rabbit scared it away. A rabbit hops backward down my walls. It’s a rabbit not a bunny. I don’t like bunnies. Only rabbits. Shhhh! He’s staring at me. I can see into his eyes. He is a pink rabbit with blue polka dots and he asks me if he can pretty please have a carrot. I have to tell him no because he already had his bedtime snack. I slide down under the covers. It’s hot and sticky under there. Like a jungle. Sometimes I hide under there all by myself so no one can find me. It’s dark. Sometimes the dark is so scary. When I’m in my jungle I can change shapes. I become a bird and fly away. I hope the dark doesn’t get scary tonight.
Mama’s watching TV. I hear a hummy sound downstairs that means the TV is on. Mama always watches TV at night. I like to cuddle in her arms and watch the TV too but I have to go to bed. Mama says I’m tired but she doesn’t know that I don’t sleep in my room. I hide in the jungle and I have to stay awake so that I can watch out for dragons. Dragons live in jungles. I have to be careful when I’m in my jungle because a dragon might sneak up on me in the dark and then I’d be scared but Mama couldn’t come to help me and I’d have to fight the dragon on my own but I’m really brave. Mama tells me how brave I am but even Mama doesn’t know that I could fight a dragon.
Mama’s still watching TV. The hummy noise helps me go to sleep. Sometimes I can’t hear the hummy noise. I have to stay awake because it gets so loud. When it gets really loud I crawl under the sheets but ...
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...gle all night but I don’t know if she ever fought the dragon. I bet there was a fire-breathing dragon in her jungle. And I bet Mama fought the dragon all night. Mama’s brave too. Maybe Mama was stronger than the dragon. Maybe the dragon was stronger than Mama. Sometimes I have a tough time finding my way out of the jungle. I hope Mama didn’t get lost in there.
I snuggle in between Mama’s arm and Mama’s heart. I can hear her heart beating. Thump thump thump. Hummmmm. Thump thump thump. It’s warm next to Mama’s heart. But it’s not too loud. Thump thump thump. The thumpy sound helps me go to sleep. My cheek is next to Mama’s heart. Thump thump thump. It sounds like Mama’s running out of her jungle. And I’m waiting for Mama here next to her heart with the hummy from the TV. I can still hear the mama bird singing outside. Maybe Mama hears her too. Thump thump thump.
Throughout the emotional lyrics of Tupac Shakur’s song “Dear Mama”, he constantly reveals trial and tribulation. Shakur sympathetically expresses the obstacles he endures due to the undying support of his mother who displays sacrificial love. He explains the abnormal circumstances in which his family undergoes such as poverty, single parenting, and even feelings of hopelessness. Shakur characterizes his mother as a heroic figure, who outshines the negative aspects of his life by providing the essentials only a mother could both physically and morally instill in her child. The artist brilliantly captivates his audience by revealing personal information from his childhood in which many can relate to.
The final sentence of Winesburg, Ohio imprints the image of the town fading away as George Willard departs for the city. In fact, to view the novel in larger units, the final chapter is conspicuously named "Departure," and for any reader who bothers to take in the table of contents page before starting the book it is fairly easy to deduce how Winesburg, Ohio will end before it even begins. The notion of escape from the town of Winesburg is common throughout the book, and the intended destination for escape is usually some undefined "city." As a recurring element, however, it fits into a broader theme of the novel, that of a need for change in general. The two means through which change can occur can be classified as outburst and escape, with each occupying slightly different niches in the novel. Escape, being the culminating event of the novel, is clearly given prominence. But examination reveals that flight to the city is a largely flawed notion which is idealized by many but yields results which are actually embittering and not much better, empirically, than life in Winesburg. Outburst actually serves as a slightly more successful outlet for the anxieties of Winesburg's citizens.
Winesburg Ohio is a moving, intriguing book of short stories about the lives of people in a small town in Ohio. Although each story seems to have a different theme and meaning, with the only connection being time, place and George Williard, all the stories seem to come together to a common, general theme as well. This characteristic of this work has lead some critics to say it is a novel, but one without a clear joining thread. Literary criticism about this work by Sherwood Anderson seem to center around the debate as to whether Winesburg, Ohio is a novel or a book of short stories(Miller,1999). The overall theme of this fascinating book appears to be that all the trials, troubles, decisions, rewards, rumors, and stories of the people of a small town add up to more than the sum of the people and their stories. The town takes on a personal identity of its own, it is more than the sum of its parts., but its character is formed by its parts, the people who live there. The argument over whether it is a novel or a book of short stories has been going on for over seventy five years, and no satisfying conclusion has been found (Miller, 1999). This work must be looked at not from the point of view of what genre it represents, but instead we must ask the larger question ‘ What is the theme of this work? What was Anderson trying to say? . If we look beyond the surface, deeper into the subtle meaning Anderson was trying to convey, we can see this is a work where characters are being affected by the time in which they lived and the characters were affecting the times in which they were living. That is the subtle connection between the stories that binds the book together.
Gioia, Dana, and X.J. Kennedy. "Oedipus the King." Literature: An Introduction to Fiction, Poetry, Drama, and Writing, Compact Edition, Interactive Edition. 5th ed. New York: Pearson; Longman Publishing, 2007. 887-924. Print.
Some mothers cannot be all that you want her to be, but she is a mother. Being the only daughter with four brothers of the family with a mean mother was a tough life. Teenage life was the hardest tough love having to hear her criticism tone of voice and what she has to say next from her cup full of emotions. She would not give any female support on problems when support was needed. Sometimes it is rare to see her happy, but mainly she gives out her stress, anxiety, and anger like whose fault would that be if it was not hers. Most of the back talking is not a way to solve an argument, not with her, but she will not give up. Living with the madness helps to become a strong person if believing is all that can be wished for. Experiencing as a teenager, mother would probably be the toughest meanest mother in the world, but she is mother who will love dearly. No matter how hard life can be with a mean mother she will continue to love endlessly despite of if she shows her emotional or psychological abuse actions, but she is a biological mother with a soft heart to love.
“I probably would not have noticed it at all had not a butterfly, a yellow butterfly with dark spots like ink dots on its wings, not lit there. What had brought it there? …I watched it fly over the ditch and down into the quarter, I watched it until I could not see it anymore. Yes, I told myself. It is finally over.”
Migraine headaches affect an estimated 36 million Americans, or about 12% of the population, surpassing asthma at 8.3% (25 million) and diabetes at 7.8% (23.6 million). Migraines are much more common in women than in men--about 3 times more common. Nearly 30% of women will experience at least one episode of migraine headaches in their lifetime, most commonly in the third and sixth decades of life. However, migraines can affect anyone at any age and from any ethnic group. In addition to indirect expenses like missed work/school and lost productivity, the American Migraine Foundation estimates that migraines cost Americans more than $20 billion annually. Migraine sufferers are also more likely to experience anxiety, depression, sleep disorders, fatigue, and other pain conditions, and those who experience visual disturbances called “auras” associated with migraines are at an increased risk of heart attack and stroke. Unfortunately, there is no cure for migraines. The best treatment options available only to seek to reduce frequency of attacks or treat an attack once one has begun, and medication use is often limited by side effects and difficulty of administration. The American Migraine Foundation itself labels current treatment options “far from perfect” and concludes, “Undoubtedly, better treatments are needed.” Filling this therapeutic void is the primary objective of NuPathe Inc. (very recently acquired by Teva Pharmaceutical Industries Ltd.) with Zecuity®, a sumatriptan iontophoretic transdermal system.
In conclusion, A Day in Acupuncture was an excellent experience. The author felt energized after her treatment. Recommendations made by Jane have been taken into consideration and some of them such as eating every 2-3 hours, water intake, and applying oil at onset headache are easily achievable. Diet, exercise and meditation are more time consuming, so is still a struggle to do, especially the elimination of caffeine and spicy food from diet. Yes, it is a battle but nevertheless a battle that is worth fighting if the result is no more migraine
Ashkenazi A, Silberstein S. Menstrual migraine: a review of hormonal causes, prophylaxis and treatment. Expert Opin Pharmacother. 2007 Aug;8(11):1605-13.
After I protested, my mother was promptly possessed by Momzilla. “Read not because of what you already know, but because of what you will learn,” her face scrunched up as she scolded me. In a few moments, the smell of burnt food hit our noses. Covering my nose with my hand, my mother swiftly returned to the kitchen to fix our lunch, leaving me in utter shock. Afraid of disappointing my mother, I obeyed her commands. I ran downstairs and skipped to the backyard to read the book outside.
I am in a well-lit room with soft carpet under my feet. The room has a unique sweet smell that I do not recognize. My body is trembling as I listen to the soft music. My worst fear in this instant is that I will pass out and leave my mom to face this on her own. The reason I am in this room right now is not that I have always wanted to experience this. The only reason I am here is that it is not fair to leave my mom to deal with this on her own.
Shannon heard her stepfather coming up the stairs and quickly raced for the closet where she had already prepared her hiding place. Huddled under a pile of clothing, she listened as he came closer. He stopped as he entered the room and she knew he would be surprised to find her bed empty. He must be trying to figure out where to look next. Her heart pounded so hard she thought he must surely be able to hear it and she scarcely breathed as he stopped outside the closet door. Opening it slowly he looked inside but seemed unable to see her as he closed it and walked into another room. He called her name but she lay motionless until she heard him on the stairs. After a few more drinks he would pass out in front of the TV but afraid he might come back, she waited until she heard her mother come home from work. She slowly and quietly opened the closet door and tiptoed back to bed. Sleep did not come.
I left the living room and went outside. There was a hammock there where I always went to think and relax. I crawled on and started to swing. I stayed swinging for 20 minutes, but I inevitably fell asleep. I woke up an hour later, rolled off the hammock and walked inside. I asked my grandfather if Maya was awake yet. He answered by saying “No, she is still sleeping.”
Too late. I could already hear my mothers graceful footsteps ascend the stairs. She carefully opened the door that entered my kitchen, and I flung myself into her arms. My mother yelped with shock and a hint of exhaustion, “Meggie honey, Mommy is very tired. Please be a little more careful next time.”
When I was young, I drew a picture of my mother. It was her standing in a yard with a house in the background. It wasn't our house, and my mother looked like anyone but herself. Dressed entirely in green, with green hair and a green expression on her green face, she stood in front of a green two-story house surrounded by a green landscape. Green was her favorite color, and I wanted to make a surprise out of the drawing for her.