Remote control

Glued to her couch, a full table of junk food in front of her, she dozes in front of the screen. Taking in TV shows as some would swallow down pill after pill of Valium. Not even trying to understand the meaning of what she’s watching. Channel after channel, she swaps between emotion shows and TV series, news reports and weather forecasts.

The remote in her hand is like an extra set of fingers. She doenst’ even look down at the buttons anymore. She works part-time in a diner, her husband goes to the factory every night. She knows the program by heart and could dvise you on anything on the two hundred channels she gets from her satellite dish.

Cut-off from the real world, she sips her flat-screen 40 inch TV like some cool drink on a hot summer day. A quick hello to the kids when they get back from school, a call to the pizza delivery for dinner, a few micro-waved hamburgers for lunch. She knows how to cook though – she sometimes see it on the Cooking Channel number 12. Remote controlled from her couch by too much choice, too much nonsense and too much channels. Free to fall asleep, free to forget everything her parents once told her.