[ WP ] Write a melodramatic story about the most mundane thing you can think of .

Anger and resentment flared up inside me once more as my attention was pulled away by the incessant droning of the elderly bird who was at the same needlessly small table as I. Why she elected to prattle on here, and worse, why she chose me, I could not fathom, but this is my penance for letting my family talk me into these meaningless social events. Of course, they had immediately run off to the bar after “ settling in ” at the table, leaving me paralyzed and at the mercy of this relentless chatterbox. Heavens knows the only way my family could survive such an evening is by drowning away their sense of reason—the entire lot of them are drunks. 
 
 But for me, I could not afford such indulgences, as they undermine my aims. I redoubled my efforts at the task at hand, while simultaneously making the pleasantries one would expect out of a graceful socialite. Sadly, these do not come as easy as they used to; the years have eroded my charm, my expressions appearing less genuine, prompting an interruption from my tormentor ’ s monologue to ask if I was following along, “ Dear, are you with me? ” The break in her chanting broke my focus once again, as I needed to reassure her that I was hanging onto her every word. Internally, I sighed at having to start from the beginning once more, and cursed under my breath. 
 
 All around me people were buzzing and rushing about, oblivious to my struggle and torment. The room was alive with busybodies and self-proclaimed VIPs, none of whom understood the significance of the assault unfolding before them at my little table. Undaunted though, I fastened my resolve a third time and no longer cared if I caused a scene. I was determined. I would succeed. Straining with every ounce of strength I could muster, and feeling the muscles in my neck tense at the energy collected, my brow beading with sweat from the focus, I finally succeeded in my exhausting mission: I took my first step towards the restroom. The rest of the journey was trivial. 
 
 You see, for people like me with advanced Parkinson's, the start of every voluntary movement is a battle, one fought between a crumbling mind and limbs that feel more granite-like with each passing week. Thankfully, today's skirmish was won. Unfortunately, I still retain enough insight to know that I am on the losing side of this endless war.
