An Ode to Morpheus

Written by Ambreen Ishrat

Another night and Morpheus has yet again to deliver my share of sleep and so I lie on my pillow, gazing atrepparttar ceiling fan, whilerepparttar 122301 rest ofrepparttar 122302 world is in deep slumber.

How I wish to have hypnotized myself to sleep as counting sheep never helps, nor does hot milk. The sandman's sand has also turned colourless. Another night it is when sleep deludes my weary eyes and my overactive brain refuses to stop dwindling onrepparttar 122303 scenes ofrepparttar 122304 day that has just ended and another one has started silently.

Sleep -repparttar 122305 boundary betweenrepparttar 122306 two days - is missing. What'srepparttar 122307 big deal, you must think, for every now and then, a sleepless night is quite a normal thing for everyone. But for some, this is an affliction that happens more often than usual. And what makes me hysterical isrepparttar 122308 feeling that on one such desperate night, you also tend to discover that you have run out of your emergency supply of sleeping pills. So much for my emergency-coping capabilities!

The value of sleep can only be known to an insomniac andrepparttar 122309 bliss that it brings to one who is weary in soul as well. For me, sleep is what always restores my sanity, which can wear offrepparttar 122310 effects of gruesome schedules, worries and complications. It is a happy escape intorepparttar 122311 land of Oz, where I can slip into for a few hours and then come back torepparttar 122312 familiar worrisome and often irksome daily routine. The problems remainrepparttar 122313 same, but my ability to cope with them certainly increases thrice-fold. Pimples onrepparttar 122314 tired skin reduce,repparttar 122315 sting of heartaches lessen and deadlines become graspable. Like a magical transformation, overnight my body gets charged with energy. The brain starts brimming with activated and regenerated neurons and I rise as a new person who takes uponrepparttar 122316 irksome hurdles of yesterday with horns and does away with them.

So silent seemsrepparttar 122317 world around me that I can hearrepparttar 122318 beating of my own heart. My weary eyes start to roam and scanrepparttar 122319 length and breadth ofrepparttar 122320 four corners ofrepparttar 122321 room. This is my room, my heaven, my prison and my hell. The walls wear my solitude like trophies and silence curls on my bed and encapsulates me like a shroud, where I lie with my hands resting neatly by my sides. I liftrepparttar 122322 palm of my hand and feel my own breath atrepparttar 122323 back of my hand - to seek reassurance that I am still alive and this isn'trepparttar 122324 silence ofrepparttar 122325 grave. And if that is not enough, my mind goes on speculating on and on as to why certain things happened. At night, my mind turns itself into a backyard cluttered with half-conceived and half-aborted ideas and plans that I keep on stumbling upon. Allrepparttar 122326 wonderful ideas and resolutions which flit like bats inrepparttar 122327 nook and crannies of my mind fade away on seeingrepparttar 122328 light of day. The mind is alsorepparttar 122329 graveyard of memories and remembrances, which are easily resurrected inrepparttar 122330 dead ofrepparttar 122331 twelfth hour. As morbidity tries to seize me, I kick my sheet off and get up, wishing no more to wait upon sleep or revel in thoughts ofrepparttar 122332 past, analysis ofrepparttar 122333 day just gone by and pipe dreams of tomorrow.

The chill getsrepparttar 122334 better of me and for one moment,repparttar 122335 warmth of my bed tempts me to snuggle back again. Butrepparttar 122336 body refuses to lay in monotony anymore. My mind swiftly scansrepparttar 122337 possibility of activities that can help me to kill time or to induce sufficient tiredness, forcing me to lull me back torepparttar 122338 peaceful sojourn of sleep. A book to read maybe, a long overdue letter that needs to be answered or I can hook onrepparttar 122339 net and explorerepparttar 122340 web. All options are considered and struck off one after another, as my tired body protests. Hence, I decide to just lie low and breatherepparttar 122341 surrounding silence in and out.

Choosing Our Parents

Written by Skye Thomas

There's a Native American belief that before we are born, we choose our parents. It actually ties in pretty nicely withrepparttar reincarnation idea that we prearrange certain circumstances before each life so as to learn different lessons. Either way, our parents teach us so much more than they ever mean to. Through their choices, circumstances, faults, talents and ability to show their love and support, they mold us. If life is a rat race, then our folks determine what we come out ofrepparttar 122300 starting blocks with.

The gifts they give us are so much more than biological. Yeah, there'srepparttar 122301 basics of whether or not you go through life as pretty, ugly, or just sort of plain looking. I don't have to tell you that physical looks, athletic abilities, and general health definitely effect how we go through life. Our parents can decide whether or not we're deformed or mentally challenged by deciding to create alcohol syndrome or drug addicted babies. And they genetically predispose us to various future challenges, like breast cancer or heart disease. Other than by taking care of our bodies with proper rest and nutrition while growing up, there isn't a whole lot that they can do about most ofrepparttar 122302 physical characteristics they pass along to us.

Most of us are average, that's what average means. So most of us inherit average bodies with average talents and average health. So what does it matter who we choose as our parents? For proof, just look atrepparttar 122303 people who were raised by adopted parents or those who were raised in blended step-families. Their biology isn't really what comes to mind when we look atrepparttar 122304 gifts and challenges they received from their 'folks.'

Our parents - whether biological, adopted, or stepparents - determined what our environment would be while growing up. They chose our financial health, spiritual health, educational health, social health, and mental health. They may have consciously sat down and maderepparttar 122305 decisions and acted on them, or they may have paid no attention whatsoever to how those things would turn out. Many parents are themselves uneducated or unhealthy in some of these areas and don't even know that there were other choices to be made. It's not always intentional, what they chose. Either way, they made choices that determined all of those things for us.

It's really easy if we had blessed childhoods to give thanks to our parents for making wonderful choices on our behalf. If we believe in that theory that we choose our parents before birth, then we can nod and say, "Yep, I certainly did pick some winners! Sure am glad I picked those two as my parents. They supported me in everything I ever wanted to do and paid for my music lessons and never stopped loving me no matter what!"

But what if you were one of those kids whose childhood sucked? Was your dad an alcoholic? Was your momrepparttar 122306 queen of guilt trips? Was your dadrepparttar 122307 overachiever who pressured you to carry on his legacy? Was your mother a gold digger hopping from one wealthy man torepparttar 122308 next, never really paying attention to you? Were your folks ignorant and uneducated, not having a clue that you were a bored genius with nobody to talk to? Did they make choices constantly based on themselves instead of their children? Were they artists who got so carried away inrepparttar 122309 creative process that they'd forget you existed at times? Whateverrepparttar 122310 story, you getrepparttar 122311 idea. You may or may not love your folks, but you know that if you had it to do over again you certainly wouldn't have picked those two people to be in charge of your early years. The last thing you want to hear is that you might have chosen that upbringing for yourself.

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