Ah! Quiet at last.

You peak your head around the corner of your bedroom door frame and tiptoe into the living room as your rub the raw pink skin on your wrist.

“So this is what happens when you Meet Your Inner Igora. Three more weeks?” you complain as you head to the fridge to grab a nice cold glass of fruit-induced water.

Igora appears to have left the building. Could it be?

“Hey maybe she just tired of nagging me and went off to bother someone else? It sure is more comfortable sitting at the breakfast table not having a sweaty obnoxious ogre reach over my bowl to torture me while I try to catch up on the news,” you think to yourself.

You open your laptop and settle into a comfy chair to surf CNN for the latest story: New York will stockpile gas to prevent storm outages…in an emergency reserve to prevent outages like those during…

Suddenly the ground starts to shake. “Honestly! 7am on a Sunday morning?”

Slam goes your laptop and you head to the window expecting to catch construction crews banging away on the half-finished condo next door. As you work yourself up into a rage, you line up the convoy of obscenities you intend to yell at the workers, but just as you are about to spew all the evil thoughts infecting your brain you come eye-to-eye with the cold stare of the object of your recent affliction.

You roll your eyes, clamp your mouth shut, and cringe. “I don’t believe I’m still doing this.”


“Ouch!” You scream as the elastic band deepens the pinkish hue around your wrist. “Thanks for sharing,” you promptly add.

Igora smiles, nods in approval, and enters the building.

“Great way to start the morning!” Igora chuckles as she kicks off her running shoes and heads to the shower. Of course you know she is referring to the refreshing jog, right?

While your new roommate serenades you with a bathroom rendition of Singing In the Rain, you jump back onto the computer and continue reading the article. “Gasoline? I’d be more concerned about water,” you comment.

Igora walks out into the living room, leaving a trail of puddles behind her, then plops herself on the couch.

“Ummm. Would you mind?” You point to the linen closet and suspect that she is secretly testing your mettle or rather your rubber wristband, but you resolve not to give in to the old habits that just a few minutes ago resulted in a bout of self-abuse. And we’re not talking about the physical welt forming on your skin.

It’s the self-abuse that comes from negative thoughts, words, and in their crudest state, actions, that inflict the most pain. It’s the suffering that comes from the unrealized dreams, the squandered potential, and the broken glass you leave in your wake for your loved ones to walk on as they unconsciously follow your lead which are the most scarring. You know this and that’s why you persist with the ogre’s orders.

“Just three more weeks,” you rejoice, “and then—”

“—and then you’ll start to like me,” adds Igora with a grin. “I might even let you practice those magic words on me.”

“You mean?”

“Yes, Mistress,” she winks. “But in the meantime, I’m going to add another exercise to your daily workout.”

Igora reaches over to your computer and brings up a terminal session. A black window with the raw operating system prompt appears. She starts typing furiously as applications open, automatically do stuff, then close. Then she works her magic on your cell phone, then your tablet, and finally your desktop system.

After about 10 minutes of technological wizardry Igora turns to you and says: “No more junk thought for us!”

Not quite knowing what she means by that, you take back your laptop and return to surfing the web for the usual late-breaking news stories and gossip on your favourite celebrities while Igora prepares a fresh pot of camomile tea…she knows you’re going to need a cup in just one—


—well that was fast!

You move over to your desktop and grumble. You lunge for your tablet and grunt. As a last result, you grab your smart phone then look up at Igora in half-awe and frustration.

“How did you do that?” you ask. All negative and unproductive dribble has been blocked. You’re body starts to sweat as your anxiety mounts. “Television,” you think to yourself, but Igora is one step ahead…as always.

She beats you to the boob-tube and stands there with her arms crossed looking down on you as you plead: “Aw come on! I work hard all week. I just want to relax and—”

—Igora shoves (Whoops. I mean offers with purpose) a cup of camomile in your face. You take a deep breath and release your resistance. It is futile anyway. She walks you back to the living room and presents you with a gift.

“Your habit of feeding your negativity parasite with other people’s junk does not serve you. In fact, those people have no interest in serving you at all. They are the ones with the finger on the switch when you allow them to pollute your thoughts.” She places the wrapped box on your lap and smiles. “We have now created a time void to fill. Start right away to fill your mind with good or else a jewel thief will skulk back in.”

You stare at your pink skin against the pure white package for a while then choose to listen to the outer manifestation of your inner Igora. The lid pops open to reveal a small book entitled Think And Grow Rich by Napoleon Hill.

“Want to learn how to Pull The Switch?” Igora leans back on the couch, puts her feet up on the ottoman, savours a sip of her tea, and sighs, immensely please with herself.  She closes her eyes for a little snooze while you read the back jacket…