F-5 WARNING

In my feverish, restless sleep, I heard her come quietly into the room. So as not to disturb me, or more likely - not to get caught, she carefully opened the cabinet door. I heard the rustling of papers, books thudding against each other and all I could think was "Why doesn't she just watch TV!?!" Gently I raised my eight pound head off the too warm pillow just high enough to see over the settee at the end of the bed. On the floor in front of the bookshelves I spotted her squatting. "TJ." My voice sounding like a trombone with the cup stuck in it. She shot up, twirled around, and flung open our extra long stapler to a perfect 180. Staples flew every where! I heard pings on the mirror, off the door, the computer, lamp, desk, pictures! Pings raining from the ceiling! "CHRISTINA!" My head throbbed. "This is what I was looking for Momma." "TJ . . .use tape, sweetie." Too painful to yell, too tired to fuss, out of the bed I slid. Down on my knees, back on my legs, heavy head on the floor, aching eyes searching fibers for tiny arrows. . . this the beginning of a down-hill day.