When things go south (that's her phrase) and I realise I need a reality check, I call her.
'I screwed up.' I say with a helpless shrug as she hugs me.
Like good old days, we rant on over noodles in burnt chilli sauce (something that we both love, rare thing; really!) and a cup of tender coconut icecream.
She smacks hard at the back of my head and takes my brain out.
Washes brain and pats dry.
Then she injects something in its folds.
'What is it?' I ask curiously.
'Sense.' She replies with an air of a hardened surgeon.
'There you go.' She says after she finishes.
On such days, I reconcile with myself.
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