Little Battles

I wake up and I take a shower. Is it going to be too hot or too cold today? I can't figure out the temperature knobs. At first it was don't turn the hot on very much because more water will flow through the pipes, and the pilot flame won't be able to heat that amount water. Then it was turn the hot on all the way. That got the hot water going, but now it's too hot. So I turn the cold on, but it doesn't seem to affect the temperature. I turn the cold knob more, fearing the blast of freezing cold water that will tell me I turned it too far. The water is still too hot, it won't cool off. Finally, I turn the cold knob five or six times. There! Now the water cools off, but of course it overshoots. I dial back the cold knob, but the water is now on the fence, fluctuating between freezing and burning. I try turning the hot knob back a little to compensate. Now the water is just freezing.

A lady stands on the street, hailing a bus. The driver doesn't see her and keeps going. A moment of exasperation. She waits for the next bus.

I am sick. I have a cough, a sore throat, a running nose, and a headache from the congestion. But that is nothing compared to what I cannot see. Inside my body a war rages. The soldiers in my veins fight valiantly. Who was the first one to notice the intruder, to sound the alarm? He didn't last long. After getting the word out, he selflessly sacrificed himself, engulfing one of the enemy, destorying himself for the greater good. Who are the generals of my immune system? They direct millions to their death every hour, genocide on microscopic scale. Who are the NCOs of my bloodstream? Inspiring men to fight in the face of unquestionable destruction, forcing others to follow in the footsteps of their fallen comrades? The biochemist and the doctor say they are white blood cells and red blood cells, T-helper cells, enzymes and catalysts. I wonder if it is so simple.

A student hears a word in a foreign language. He has heard it before, but cannot define it. He asks, and is told its meaning. He knows he will forget it next time, too.

I walk into the building where I have Spanish classes. Which room am I in today? B-18? No, that's Mondays. C... C-something. Yes, that's it. Which hallway was C again? Is C across from D? No, C is below D. Okay, at which end of the building? There's hallway B (why can't it be Monday?), so it must be at the other end of the building. Upstairs... no, D is up. C is down. I take a left, but I don't see my fellow classmates. I must've turned the wrong way. I try the other hallway. Yes, this looks familiar (it all looks the same). There, my classmates. C-12. Remember! Wednesdays, C-12.

A little girl trips on the sidewalk. Her mother helps her up and brushes off her hands. The little girl continues to walk.