tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84325481733173812602024-03-13T04:25:01.565-07:00Kate Does World LitKatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14709664900175207232noreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8432548173317381260.post-26079533694769103132015-01-21T16:30:00.000-08:002015-01-21T16:41:51.808-08:00Best and Worst<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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One of the best parts of the winter break for me was when my
friend Ginny came to Houston to spend a couple days with me. Besides just
hanging out at my house, we decided to go to the Houston Museum of Natural
Science, which is way cool by the way. The Houston Museum has completely
renovated the hall of paleontology, so now all the dinosaurs are in this really
cool room size might set up like a timeline moving you throughout history from
the time of the trilobites to modern man. (Plus, they gave the dinosaurs names!
Stan the T-Rex is my favorite) The museum also has a rather extensive Egyptian
exhibit which I always enjoy. One of the temporary exhibits was called Sharks!
where I learned a Bit about the sharks that swim in the Gulf of Mexico as well
as some major research projects various scientists and organizations are
involved in currently. Ginny and the other friends that we met at the museum
also got to pet small sharks in tanks.<o:p></o:p></div>
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While we were at the museum, we also went to the butterfly
exhibit. For those of you not from Houston or Houstonians who have yet to visit
the museum (shame on you! You need to go!), the butterfly exhibit is this huge atrium
that has a massive waterfall and is designed like the rain forest. It stays the
same temperature year-round (which is great because it was freezing outside
when we went, but more on that later) and is filled with butterflies from many
different species as well as a pretty chill iguana and beautiful flowers and
plants. Attached to the atrium, on the second level, is a massive insect
display where all different kinds of bugs species are in glass cages throughout
the room (it was kind of disturbing especially the jumbo bugs that I told Ginny
that I would probably sacrifice her and run away if one attacked us).<o:p></o:p></div>
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Lastly, while Ginny and I were at the museum, we decided to
see <i>Night</i> at <i>the Museum</i> <i>3.</i> We both
really liked the movie, but thought the ending was a really sad (we didn’t care
that they put a somewhat happy reunion on the end. It didn’t matter; it was
still sad).<o:p></o:p><br />
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The worst part of my winter break was the freezing cold
weather. Because the weather was so cold and rainy and disgusting, Ginny and I
didn’t get to go to the zoo. We were really bummed out that we didn’t get to go
because we were both looking forward to feeding the giraffes and seeing the new
baby giraffe. I even got Ginny a giraffe for Christmas because after seeing a
picture of the baby giraffe, she decided she wanted a giraffe for Christmas.
So, genius that I am, I adopted a giraffe via the World Wildlife Fund (yes, I
know it’s really just donating money for a piece of paper) and got a Build a
Bear giraffe named GG (for Ginny’s giraffe). <o:p></o:p></div>
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Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14709664900175207232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8432548173317381260.post-79515638914248584892014-11-08T23:47:00.000-08:002014-11-13T08:19:26.492-08:00Project Two<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Lying comfortably on my oversized
fluffy bed, I doze contentedly while listening to my two-paws banging around in
the adjacent room that always smells like food. I’ve only experienced too cold
seasons in my life, and have been with my two-paws for nearly half of that
time. We recently moved from our old home that had lots of green ground and
outside air to play around in to this much smaller, grayer indoor area. Though
I’m not as excited to be in this new place, I love my two paws and want to take
care of her just as I know she will take care of me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Just as I
began to slip into a deeper sleep, a loud banging noise erupts throughout our
home. My two paws quickly walks out of the food room to go to the big brown
door that leads to the outside. From my perch on my bed, I can see an oversized,
mean-looking two paws standing on the other side of the door. My two paws seems
to recognize her, for she immediately invites her into our home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“Mrs. de
Vil, how can help you today?” My two paws asks the pinched faced two paws.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“Well,
Linda, my other tenants have brought your dog to my attention.” While she says
this, the mean two paws shoots a hateful glance in my direction. “I do not
allow pit bulls in my buildings. Those animals are savages who pose a great
threat to every other person who lives here, and I cannot allow you to keep it.
You have until the end of the week to get rid of it, or I will have no choice
but to evict you both.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“But Mrs.
de Vil, Leo hasn’t hurt anyone, ever. He’s a sweet dog, and he poses no threat
to anyone. I don’t understand –”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“You will
get rid of that dog if you want to stay here, and that is final.” With those
parting words, the means two paws turned and stormed out of our home, slamming
the door on her way out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Staring at
the door in a kind of trance, my two paws suddenly turns and rushes over to my bed
to hug me, her face awash with her tears. Though I don’t fully understand what
just transpired, I know my two paws is greatly upset, so I offer her my best
kisses all over her face. </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Six days
later my two paws again appears incredibly upset. She’s been acting strangely
all week, constantly hugging me and sitting beside me, talking to all of her
two paw friends about things called “adoption” and “shelters”, and generally
seeming depressed. I don’t understand what’s going on.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">When my
two paws grabs the rope that attaches to the thing around my neck and means it’s
time to go play outside, I immediately jump up and rush over to her. She clips
the rope and opens the door, leaving us down the uneven ground and out another
door to the open air. We stroll along to our favorite park where she unclips
the rope and kneels down in front of me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“Leo, I
know you won’t understand what’s happening, but I can’t keep you anymore. I
have to live in that apartment and the landlady won’t let me keep you. I swear
to you that I tried to find you another home, but none of my friends or family
or even acquaintances were willing to take in the pit bull – the idiots. I can’t
take you to a shelter because everyone in the city kills dogs like you within
24 hours. I’m so sorry I have to do this too, Leo. You don’t deserve this, but
I have no choice. Goodbye, Leo.” My two paws straightens backup and starts to
walk away. I follow behind her, wondering why we’re not going to play in the
park today. She turns around and, seeing me follow her, instructs me to stay.
Planting my bottom on the ground, I do as she commands. My eyes track her as
she moves out of the park and finally out of my line of sight. I know she will
be back: she loves me. So, until she returns, I will wait.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">The bright
ball in the sky rises and falls twice before I realize my two paws isn’t coming
back. Betrayed, dejected, and extremely hungry, I rise from the ground and
began searching for food. Nose in the air, I stroll down the gray pathways
hunting down the aroma of cooking food. However, every time I get near the
places where the smells originate, angry two paws come out of the buildings and
yell and or kick at me. Even the two paws I pass as I walk along seem scared of
me, screeching at me to “go away” or “get out of here.” The act like I intend
them harm when that couldn’t be further from the truth. I am only hungry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">It seems
as if I’ve been on my own forever. My belly constantly rumbles in hunger, and
my skin is very painful from the bright light I am constantly exposed to. I
have only been able to scavenge food from the two paws left overs that they
throw in the stinky boxes that sit outside of their buildings. Every time I see
other four paws on the ropes with their two paws, I am filled with longing for
that kind of life again. Instead, I am now treated as a monster, shooed away
from buildings, two paws, and other four paws. I just want to go home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">In a
flurry of activity, I have been taken from the outdoors to a small, enclosed
space in a new building. I don’t like these small, confined quarters, but at
least the two paws here feed me. I have been given a new name, Bill Murray. The
new name is appropriate, for I have left my whole life behind and hope to start
a new one here. All around me are other four paws in their own closed off
spaces. Some just sleep all day while others are frantically pacing and
barking. Two paws are constantly walking in front of our gates, gazing in,
judging us. I frequently hear things like, “oh, not this one. He is a pit bull”
and “he’s too old. I want a puppy.” These two paws just don’t realize that I
only want a forever home with someone to love me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.petango.com/sms/photos/1112/6fd5f65f-ea36-4948-bfa1-9dd80aefa14e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.petango.com/sms/photos/1112/6fd5f65f-ea36-4948-bfa1-9dd80aefa14e.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">One of the
two paws who seems to be dedicated to my care opens my gate and attaches the
rope to me. Excited to be out of that small space, I dance around and whip my
head this way and that, trying to take in all the new sights and sounds
surrounding me. He leads me to another area where a group of two paws seem to
be waiting for me. Eagerly, I trot up to them. One of them sits in a strange
black contraption. Curious, I walk up to her, planting my head in her lap and
gazing up into her compassionate, understanding eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">As I
stared into Bill Murray’s mesmerizing icy blue eyes, I was able to feel a sort
of compassion and understanding. He has been robbed of his freedom, and
imprisoned in a small cage at APA, though the volunteers do seem to try to
provide as much attention and exercise as they can. Similarly, I have also been
robbed of my freedom of movement. Like the ape in Franz Kafka’s short story <i>A Report to the Academy</i> states, “Up until then I had had so many ways out, and
now I no longer had one. I was tied down. I have no way out, but I had to
come up with one for myself. For without that I could not live.”<a href="file:///C:/Users/kate/Documents/fall%202014/P2b.htm#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;">[1]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a> In
order to adapt to its new human life, the ape had to almost completely forgo
his past and allow those memories to fade. Likewise, Bill Murray had to forget
his life with Linda to accept his new situation alone and later in the shelter
just as I have to let go of my life before paralysis to be able to move on. Failure
to find this ability to move on would mean becoming trapped in an endless cage
like Rainer Maria Rilke’s panther in his poem <i>The Panther</i>. “His tired gaze – from passing endless bars –/has
turned into a vacant stare which nothing holds/to him there seem to be 1000
bars/and out beyond these bars exists no world.”<a href="file:///C:/Users/kate/Documents/fall%202014/P2b.htm#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;">[2]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a> To
avoid this fate of trapping myself into such a cage, I’ve had to learn how to
adapt to this new situation and let the past go. Hopefully, Bill Murray will be
able to find a forever home and let his past go as well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">The Oxford English dictionary defines compassion as “suffering together
with another” and “the feeling or emotion, when a person is moved by the
suffering or distress of another, and by the desire to relieve it.”<a href="file:///C:/Users/kate/Documents/fall%202014/P2b.htm#_ftn3" name="_ftnref3" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;">[3]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a> Upon
meeting Bill Murray, I immediately recognized our shared lack of freedom. This mutual
quality made engaging my compassion and my empathy quite easy as I recognized
his suffering and the desire in me to alleviate that suffering however I could.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">While just meeting with Bill Murray helped me to empathize with him, the
single meeting was not as effective and engaging my sympathetic imagination. I
found it difficult to be able to “penetrate the barrier which space puts
between [me] and [my] object, and, by actually entering into the object, so to
speak, to secure a momentary but complete identification with it.”<a href="file:///C:/Users/kate/Documents/fall%202014/P2b.htm#_ftn4" name="_ftnref4" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;">[4]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a> Likewise
when we went to the Blanton Museum of Art to observe different pieces and attempt
to extend our sympathetic imagination to the subject of whichever piece we
chose, I found myself struggling to do so by merely looking upon Anubis (the
subject of the piece of art I chose). However, after visiting Bill Murray and
after seeing my piece of art, I found myself better able to extend my
sympathetic imagination when I began to do some research and write about Anubis
and Bill Murray from their perspectives and not my own.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Why is this the case? Why did I have to write about these beings before I
was really able to put myself into their body? My answer to these questions is
simple: writing forced me to form a deeper connection than a mere meeting. When
meeting Bill Murray and viewing the Anubis piece, I felt like a passive
third-party observer, simply documenting different qualities and aspects in my
head. It wasn’t until I sat down to write from the other perspective that I
really had to force myself to attempt to feel what the other was feeling, think
what the other was thinking, and see what the other was seeing. In Bill Murray’s
case, writing the initial biography helped me expand my empathy and compassion
more so than my sympathetic imagination, for, again, I was playing the role of
a third-party observer. When my role changed to the first person in order to
write the expanded biography, I felt I was better able to connect with my dog
and extend my sympathetic imagination.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Growing up, I have always been surrounded by different types of animals.
From my first guinea pig through fish and turtles and dogs and cats and a
horse, animals of always played a large role in my life. In fact, I fashioned
myself an animal lover and someone who could understand the animals that
surrounded me. However, this class and watching <i>Earthlings</i> has forced me to reevaluate this assumption. I have
realized that I am a speciesist, for while I have always respected the animals
that surround me, I still saw myself as a higher being and more deserving than
those that surrounded me simply by virtue of being human. Now I see how flawed
that assumption is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Walking around on campus today, whenever I see a squirrel or a bird or
any other type of animal, I can’t help but stop to think what life must be like
from their point of view. The questionnaire asked me if I expect any kind of
improvement in my ability to interact with wild animals because of my
interaction with Bill Murray or writing his biographies. While I do think that
these activities helped me increase my capacity and ability to empathize with
wild animals, I think it’s more the class in general especially <i>Earthlings</i>. Our class is raising questions
and ideas that I had not previously thought of such as speciesism. The class has
also inspired me to do some research into various animal rights issues and
incidences of animal cruelty. For example, I have learned about the sheer
volume of animals trapped in shelters because people refuse to spay or neuter
their pets. I have been horrified by the treatment of cows and pigs in
slaughter houses. My heart has been crushed by the treatment of stray animals
all over the world. And I’ve raised conflicted feelings and myself about animal
testing and animal subjects in scientific research because while I know the
animals are subject to pain and suffering in the hands of scientists, I also
know that spinal cord research relies on animals to test some of the different
theories for the solution to paralysis.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">In conclusion, meeting Bill Murray and writing his biography has
definitely aided me in teaching myself the ability to extend my sympathetic
imagination to other beings. I found myself able to connect with him on an
emotional level because we both share a lack of freedom. But more broadly, I
think the entire class, beyond this assignment, is what is truly helped me
become more aware as an earthling and also be able to move my being into
another’s perspective.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />
Word count with quotes: 2315<br />
Word count without quotes: 2216<br />
<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Endnotes<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->1.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]--><i>Kafka’s
Report to the Academy</i>. “Compassion and Reading in World Literature,"
ed. Jerome Bump (Austin, Texas: 2014) Pg. 674.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->2.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->"Rainer
Maria Rilke."<i> Compassion and Reading
in World Literature,</i> ed. Jerome Bump (Austin: unknown, 2014), 270.<span class="MsoFootnoteReference"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->3.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->"Compassion
according to the<i> </i>Oxford English Dictionary."
In <i>Compassion and Reading in World Literature,</i>
ed. Jerome Bump (Austin: unknown, 2014), 202.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->4.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->"Sympathy."<i> Compassion and Reading in World Literature,</i>
ed. Jerome Bump (Austin: unknown, 2014), 207.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Images<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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</div>
<ol>
<li><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Picture of someone knocking on the door. </span></b><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><b>http://www.seikokai.org/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/knocking-on-doors.jpg </b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Linda realizing she's going to have to give up Leo.http://mashable.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/Love-and-Other-Drugs.gif </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">picture of a dog similar looking to Bill Murray https://altornadoanimals.files.wordpress.com/2011/05/found-target-dog.jpg?w=800</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">picture of a stray dog http://cataids.files.wordpress.com/2010/12/stray-dog.jpg</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">picture of bill Murray at APA! http://www.petango.com/sms/photos/1112/6fd5f65f-ea36-4948-bfa1-9dd80aefa14e.jpg</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">picture of my sister and I with Bill Murray </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">letting go of the past picture http://www.ericdowsett.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/Fotolia_34967971_XS1-300x200.jpg</span></li>
</ol>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Appendix<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">With mesmerizing icy blue eyes and a perpetual goofy doggie grin, Bill
Murray will capture your attention and quickly steal your heart. This
three-year-old male with a beautiful white coat and adorably cute, lightly
spotted ears is very friendly, and he is always ready to lavish his kisses upon
you. His obvious curiosity of the world surrounding him suggests he is a very
intelligent and observant dog. He enjoys investigating his environment, his
electric blue eyes assessing his surroundings, his nose constantly sniffing to
detect the vast array of different scents.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Previously a stray roaming the streets of Austin, Bill Murray is
currently slightly underweight, so he is definitely open to excessive TLC (and
maybe a few extra treats, too). Possessing such a light colored coat, he is
also more sensitive to the sun. However, this sensitivity certainly does not
mean he doesn’t enjoy playing or walking outside – he just needs some sunscreen
like the rest of us humans! Even surrounded by all the noise and commotion of
the constant stream of volunteers and other talkative dogs, Bill Murray is only
moderately vocal. A recent addition to the Austin Pets Alive family, he has not
yet had the opportunity to interact with young children or other animals but
seems to possess a very calm and pleasant demeanor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Though he has only been here at the shelter for a short time, he has already
managed to win the hearts of many different volunteers. He adores being rubbed
all over, and his tail never seems to stop wagging in joy. Now, Bill Murray
just needs to find a loving companion and with whom to share a forever home.
How about yours?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Images
of Bill Murray taken by me:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-X7qhTWLkesA/VGRhyZ502SI/AAAAAAAABNQ/uLv47ChW_Sg/s1600/1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-X7qhTWLkesA/VGRhyZ502SI/AAAAAAAABNQ/uLv47ChW_Sg/s320/1.png" width="180" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UWvYdQ0yOM0/VGRh0GkjZ3I/AAAAAAAABNY/PzGp5t8totE/s1600/IMG_0703.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UWvYdQ0yOM0/VGRh0GkjZ3I/AAAAAAAABNY/PzGp5t8totE/s320/IMG_0703.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Da1lYGM89Fo/VGRh1m9bbbI/AAAAAAAABNg/SOEeuo_lfvM/s1600/IMG_0702.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Da1lYGM89Fo/VGRh1m9bbbI/AAAAAAAABNg/SOEeuo_lfvM/s320/IMG_0702.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9Ql1-Tr0X2k/VGRh3Fj5V4I/AAAAAAAABNo/fBUdYi8wwLo/s1600/IMG_0701.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9Ql1-Tr0X2k/VGRh3Fj5V4I/AAAAAAAABNo/fBUdYi8wwLo/s320/IMG_0701.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Video:</span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzBtBIFZ7_LeHMdJBEBuGjGqlqKQqbdViY-3rYudSC5XjHLf1C9m1qWph6r9xKYJwa21us9_Isu8TxBj1fR9w' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div>
<!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><br clear="all" />
<hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" />
<!--[endif]-->
<br />
<div id="ftn1">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///C:/Users/kate/Documents/fall%202014/P2b.htm#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[1]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a><i>Kafka’s
Report to the Academy</i>. “Compassion and Reading in World Literature,"
ed. Jerome Bump (Austin, Texas: 2014) Pg. 674.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn2">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///C:/Users/kate/Documents/fall%202014/P2b.htm#_ftnref2" name="_ftn2" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[2]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a> "Rainer
Maria Rilke."<i> Compassion and Reading
in World Literature,</i> ed. Jerome Bump (Austin: unknown, 2014), 270.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn3">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///C:/Users/kate/Documents/fall%202014/P2b.htm#_ftnref3" name="_ftn3" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[3]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a> "Compassion
according to the<i> </i>Oxford English Dictionary."
In <i>Compassion and Reading in World Literature,</i>
ed. Jerome Bump (Austin: unknown, 2014), 202.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn4">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///C:/Users/kate/Documents/fall%202014/P2b.htm#_ftnref4" name="_ftn4" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[4]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a> "Sympathy."<i> Compassion and Reading in World Literature,</i>
ed. Jerome Bump (Austin: unknown, 2014), 207.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14709664900175207232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8432548173317381260.post-18718026761805762502014-11-01T19:32:00.003-07:002014-11-01T19:32:54.380-07:00Earthlings Part Two<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--hEwH9CaprM/VFWUg6p2D5I/AAAAAAAABMI/bs4Rm2fCOMU/s1600/species%2Band.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--hEwH9CaprM/VFWUg6p2D5I/AAAAAAAABMI/bs4Rm2fCOMU/s1600/species%2Band.png" height="160" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Walking out of class on Thursday, I felt two overwhelmingly conflicting emotions: depression from the horrors that I had watched on screen but also an overwhelming sense of relief that the documentary was over and I would not have to watch anymore. The latter, the sense and instinctive drive to ignore the suffering and the horror, is what most concerned me. As David Sztybel comments, “the treatment of animals is a vital topic to debate,” but “it is generally kept not part of the public school curriculum. Out of sight, out of mind – one might say that does is a form of oppression ‘ invisible.’” (283). In high school, we did a small unit on rhetoric freshman year. During this, we had to watch part of the documentary from an animal rights group that displayed some of the things that Earthlings showed. I remember hating having to see the documentary because of the way it made me feel: depressed, insignificant, horrible, wretched. Many people even turn off the Sarah McLachlan commercial on TV because they don’t want to see the truth glaring them in the face. This documentary certainly put that truth front and center for me, and so far I’ve not been able to eat meat or even see people eat meat without feeling sick to my stomach.<br />
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<a href="http://i.imgur.com/JsFW2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i.imgur.com/JsFW2.png" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
<br />
The section on animal research made me feel a strong desire to do something about all the atrocity. The repeated scene of the baboons head smashed into that metal to simulate a car accident was horrific. I felt helpless and overwhelmed because I couldn’t do anything about what goes on in scientific laboratories. I felt numb and depressed faced with what those animals go through in the name of science. But again, I also felt conflicted. A huge part of the spinal cord research going on today involves animal experimentation. While one promising study is actually using humans for experimentation by implanting neurostimulator’s inside their bodies, another study used rats by severing the rat spinal cord to insert nerves from a particular part of the brain in the hopes that these specific nerve cells will regenerate the spinal cord. And it worked. Because this issue is so central to my life, I find it very difficult to not find ways to justify this animal research even though I’m sure those rats go to an untold amount of suffering. And yes, I’m sure that this experiment with the rats was not 100% applicable on humankind, but it allowed the scientist to justification and access to be able to start researching humans and his nerve cells which he did and has seen some early success in humans. The desperate longing to be able to use my body and be normal again seems to override my empathy in this instance even though I know it is not right to place my wants above the suffering of others.<br />
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<a href="http://nuffieldbioethics.org/wp-content/uploads/Resources-screenshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://nuffieldbioethics.org/wp-content/uploads/Resources-screenshot.jpg" height="292" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />
Another part of this documentary that I closely related to was when it went into the entertainment industry. Personally, I’ve never been hunting and have no desire to do so. I don’t think that hunting is very sporting as hunters today sit in their little shacks long-distance rifles and wait for animals to approach food or traps that the hunters have laid out. Other forms of hunting have hunters pitting hounds against other creatures and are not themselves using much skill, in my opinion, to track animals. Instead “animals are prey upon by people who are unfairly armed with lures, automatic weapons, and more” (279). As Earthlings says, “hunting is the number one threat to wildlife today… There is no denying it, if hunting is a sport, it is a blood sport” (217).<br />
<br />
I also hated and felt much empathy for the animals during the scenes of horse racing and animal exploitation for human enjoyment. As part of the “horse world” for many years, I am all too familiar with the reality of that world. A large portion of the people are concerned only with winning and making money. Horses are easily discarded when riders either move up in skill level that their horse was no longer suitable for or the horses are injured. The documentary states, “like any other business, dog racing and horseracing industry is motivated by a common denominator: profit” (217). I know this to be true firsthand as my own horse, Echo, was a discarded racehorse. Echo was not a very fast horse, at least by track standards. He did not like to run in races as evidenced by his few wins and his trotting across the finish line on multiple occasions. Since he was not going to win anybody any money on the track, he was tossed aside. Fortunately for him, unlike many other thoroughbreds who are simply sent to the slaughter houses, someone decided to take him in to train him to jump on the Florida circuit for money. Again, Echo was no great jumping prodigy, but Echo did enjoy jumping just not 6 foot fences. After being turned out to pasture (because it is cheap to do so), a severely underweight and undertrained version of him found me. This thoroughbred who under more typical circumstances would’ve been killed because he couldn’t run fast enough brought joy and love to my life and became a very valued member of my family.<br />
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<a href="http://stophorseslaughter.com/site/wp-content/uploads/2013/05/racing_pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://stophorseslaughter.com/site/wp-content/uploads/2013/05/racing_pic.jpg" height="208" width="320" /></a></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--ZoVxLQvhMc/VFWXrRXryVI/AAAAAAAABMY/foIZ4iVvtxc/s1600/echo%2Bto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--ZoVxLQvhMc/VFWXrRXryVI/AAAAAAAABMY/foIZ4iVvtxc/s1600/echo%2Bto.jpg" height="301" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Echo</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14709664900175207232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8432548173317381260.post-44582272784447435452014-10-28T20:36:00.001-07:002014-10-29T09:53:51.273-07:00Earthlings Part One<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.indybay.org/uploads/2008/05/07/earthlings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="73" src="https://www.indybay.org/uploads/2008/05/07/earthlings.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I agree with Greyson when he says that, “after watching all the gruesome brutality on screen today…I have never felt more of a connection to animals suffering.” In a word, today was horrifying. Watching earthlings was gruesome and devastating and horrific and tragic and so many other emotions that are just simmering underneath my skin. I definitely believe that and having to watch this film (or at least the first half so far) I’ve become more aware of my own feelings as well as expanded my capacity for empathy. Just sitting in the classroom, looking around at the other students experiencing this traumatizing documentary, I felt for Aparna and Dana and Nicole and Seton who I can obviously see where having as rough the time watching the images on the screen as I was.<br />
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When we had to watch the scenes of slaughter houses and the shelters killing overflow animals, I felt immense despair and the desire to do something to help the animals but knowing I could do nothing. I felt helpless and willingly ignorant because I know these things occur but I just don’t think about them. I felt overwhelmed and unable to comprehend the sheer cruelty of humans in three different scenes in particular. The first was when we watched those wretched man throw that poor, stray dog into the back of the trash truck. I couldn’t watch. What kind of person throws away a living being? The dog probably just wanted love. Even when he was sitting in the back of the truck, not really understanding what those men were going to do to him, he looked up at the men, looking for love or even just affection. This display of distilled cruelty was horrifying (I’m crying just thinking about the scene again). These men prove Leonardo da Vinci’s words true, “truly man is the king of beasts, for his brutality exceeds theirs. We live by the deaths of others” (230).<br />
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Another scene that left me speechless and shaken and sitting in abject horror was when that cow was writhing on the ground in his own blood with his trachea and esophagus out of his body. And yet the men just stood around and did nothing. I hope I’m never so desensitized to others suffering that I’m able to do that. The last scene that really made me just want to check out emotionally for the rest of the day was when we had to watch the dolphin hunting. Dolphins are animals that are completely devoted to their family, and for humans to use that against them is unspeakably cruel. Then they go on to drag these suffering creatures through the streets as they bleed out struggling and in the incredible amounts of pain. The way the people go on with their lives ignoring the Dolphins is unimaginable to me. Watching the scenes I felt inferior, useless, sorrowful, desolate, mournful and pessimistic. And I also felt resentful and infuriated with these people who could just stand by and watch.<br />
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Personally, I wasn’t really able to come back to feeling compassion through being with what is like from Dass would say or find the equanimity that Siddhartha found. My mind was mostly consumed with the sounds and sights of immense suffering. The squeals the pigs screamed in the terrified screeching of the cattle filled my ears leaving me feeling desolate and helpless once again.<br />
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I have to agree again with Greyson when he writes that, “watching the scenes of humans mindlessly mutilating and inflicting pain on the animals finally pushed me over the edge.” Now, to be fair, I was probably already over the edge, but these scenes just exemplified and exacerbated the senseless cruelty. These animals are already destined for the slaughterhouse. They do not need humans to make that path any worse.<br />
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One thing the documentary did say that I was dumbstruck by was that, “several pet owners feel, particularly men for some reason, that neutering a pet emasculates the owner somehow” (200). What kind of ignorant, self-conscious insecure man (or woman) does it take to selfishly not neutering pets to feel better about yourself? In doing this, you are potentially dooming the offspring of your beloved pet to a short, unhappy life. I think this is despicable.<br />
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I hope that I can be more like the boy in the starfish story. But even though there were hundreds of starfish that needed to be saved, the boy was not deterred when a man pointed out the futility of his efforts. Instead, after returning a single starfish to the sea the boy replied to the man, “I made a difference for that one” (246).<br />
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Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14709664900175207232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8432548173317381260.post-27767258869285580162014-10-01T18:47:00.002-07:002014-10-01T18:47:29.530-07:00Best and Worst<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The best part of my past week was on Friday night when I got to hang out with three of my good friends. We didn't do anything but hang out in my dorm room, but getting to see them and talk for hours made me feel <strong>comfortable</strong>, <strong>relaxed</strong>, and <strong>connected</strong> with my friends. Since I've been here, I've found it's more difficult to connect with other people and make new friendships. Last year I easily made friends because I was naturally talkative and outgoing – even though I test as an introvert. Now that I'm in a wheelchair I'm not as outgoing for whatever reason. It's also harder to make friends because a lot of students I think might feel uncomfortable around me which I can totally understand as my situation is completely removed from what most other people experience in their life. This is part of the reason why hanging out with these three good friends was so <strong>reassuring</strong> and <strong>soothing</strong> to me. They are completely comfortable around me which makes me feel <strong>human </strong>and<strong> normal</strong>.<br />
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My friends can always me laugh or feel better.</div>
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The worst part of my week was Wednesday because it marked the one-year anniversary of my accident. Though not quite as bad as I thought it was going to be, it still brought up bad memories and the "what if's." What if I had slept in that morning? What if I decided not to go ride? What if I rode a different route or what if I had been five minutes sooner to the intersection? There are so many of these questions, and it's hard not to think about them, but thinking about them can change nothing and only bring <strong>pain</strong> and <strong>regret</strong>. So, the only thing to do now is to just move on.<br />
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October 1, 2013</div>
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The death of Cevie (aka my bike)</div>
Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14709664900175207232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8432548173317381260.post-7208362339634909152014-09-16T08:06:00.001-07:002014-09-17T16:49:15.902-07:00Best and Worst<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> <a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-0Vnyms4atDk/VBoZvMnDrxI/AAAAAAAAA-Y/1fo71QtrYNY/s640/blogger-image--687610607.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-0Vnyms4atDk/VBoZvMnDrxI/AAAAAAAAA-Y/1fo71QtrYNY/s640/blogger-image--687610607.jpg"></a></div><br></div>The past week was pretty much more of the same, bumping around the horrible sidewalks to get to class and fighting with my adaptive software programs. The worst part of my week was still just trying to get adjusted to living life here in a wheelchair. The UT campus and buildings truly are not meant for people like me even though there are laws that are supposed make the campus accessible. And technically the campus is accessible it's just not practical. Many of the routes I have to take are extremely long and circuitous not to mention the uneven sidewalks and inpractically placed sidewalk ramps. Less than a month in and I've already had my fill of sketchy old elevators. I'm <b>terrified</b> that one day I'll either get stuck or they will just give out on me, sending me crashing to my death stories below (overdramatic? Probably but it doesn't change the fact that I think about it every time the elevator gives an unnatural jerk or emits a weird sound.) I'm left wondering if UT is really the college I want to be attending. Many other universities are known for being much more accessible, so I'm constantly questioning my decision to stay here instead of transferring out. all of this has left me feeling <b>frustrated</b>, <b>annoyed</b> that I can't just walk campus like everyone else, and a bit <b>unsettled</b> if I'm making right decision to stay.<div><br><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> <a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-I9w9IHpr8Vk/VBoZv9eJZGI/AAAAAAAAA-g/K-L_IMmEYic/s640/blogger-image--1386541365.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-I9w9IHpr8Vk/VBoZv9eJZGI/AAAAAAAAA-g/K-L_IMmEYic/s640/blogger-image--1386541365.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> This might make campus easier to traverse</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> the past week has held some good things. I got to go home last weekend and see my little sister and big brother. I also got to visit my cat, boots, whom I adore. Overall the weekend was just very relaxing. I got to watch some movies I hadn't seen yet like the new Captain America while also catching up on some sleep. I felt </span><b style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">connected</b><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> and </span><b style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">self-assured</b><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">being with my family and returned to campus feeling <b>rested</b> and <b>calm</b>.</span></div></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-RvEnVwA7d0Y/VBod-KI0wII/AAAAAAAAA-s/VaIe2HuZlcY/s640/blogger-image--1762965528.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-RvEnVwA7d0Y/VBod-KI0wII/AAAAAAAAA-s/VaIe2HuZlcY/s640/blogger-image--1762965528.jpg"></a></div><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><br></span></div>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14709664900175207232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8432548173317381260.post-64962567463715509002014-09-07T02:04:00.003-07:002014-09-16T08:07:13.393-07:00Best and Worst<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Since I'm writing one of the first best and worst blog
posts, I thought I would start by being brutally honest in the hopes that
everyone else will feel comfortable sharing whatever is on their mind. For me,
coming back to school has been incredibly difficult. Navigating campus in a
wheelchair is a nightmare. The sidewalks are bumpy, the ramps aren't smooth nor
logically placed, and finding the one accessible door in the ancient buildings is
time-consuming and annoying. Of course my dorm is across campus from most of my
classes, making the commute to class arduous. I stick out going down the
sidewalk and sitting in my classes. In fact, in my economics class, when the
teacher asked the class for a volunteer to take notes for another student, all
eyes in the room seemed to hone in on me though he wasn't even asking on my behalf.
Learning to use the adaptive software so I can speak to my computer has been incredibly
vexing. A great deal of the time Dragon, the software, doesn't understand me or
doesn't listen to me or just freezes with no explanation. I can't count the
number of times I've wanted to commit violent acts against my computer.
Something that used to take me 30 minutes to type now takes me 2 to 3 hours. I
find myself feeling aggravated while also feeling a little hopeless that the
situation will ever get better. I knew coming back to school was going to be a
huge adjustment, but I don't think I was ready for just how big that adjustment
was going to be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">But as difficult as all the above is, the hardest part of
being back on campus is the memories. The six weeks I spent at UT last year
were some of the happiest weeks I've ever experienced. I loved walking across
campus while surreptitiously glancing at my phone map trying to locate my
classes and going to meet up with my friends for dinner and staying in on
Friday night to have movie night where we ate way too much junk food. I loved running
the campus in the evenings even though I hate running and playing Cards Against
Humanity where we offended practically everybody and getting lost while trying
to find my way around a whole new city. Most of all, I loved the freedom of my
new college life. I got up early every morning to go ride my bike for at least
two hours before I would rush home to shower to make it to class after which I
would hang out with my friends and get my homework done and stay up way too
late before waking up early to do it all over again. I had just started making
inroads into the clubs I wanted to join, most notably the cycling club where I
finally found people as crazy about cycling as I was. Now, every time I walk down
Whitis Avenue heading towards the sixpack, I remember walking down that
sidewalk with my earbuds in listening to "Classic" by MKTO as I
rushed to make it to world literature on time. As I drive past Gregory gym, I
remember how I used to meet the other members of the cycling team there before
our team rides on Sundays and how the older guys always grabbed on to the poles
to balance themselves on their bikes because God forbid they have to put a foot
on the ground. Every place on campus sparks some kind of memory from when I was
here last year. And it hurts. I'm reminded of how it used to be and how it can
never be again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Though I can't say the past week has had many ups, there
were some. I enjoyed getting to see my friends from last year and hearing about
all their adventures after I'd left. I also didn't have to go to class on
Monday or Friday making my week a three-day week. And only having nine hours is
actually pretty awesome because it leaves me plenty of extra free time – though
most of it is spent trying to figure out my infuriating computer. Plus, being
back in Austin means I get to eat great food again, which is always fantastic.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Overall, coming back to school has been a huge trial. I have
been wrong through the emotional gamut. Though I have accepted my situation and
think I'm realistic about the next four years, I've still felt the impatience
and frustration inherent in making such a big adjustment, the sorrow of realizing
things have irrevocably changed, and the resignation that this is where I am
now and I just have to move forward.</span></div>
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<br>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14709664900175207232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8432548173317381260.post-22814140857717033882014-08-27T16:58:00.001-07:002014-08-27T17:04:17.984-07:00World Lit Introduction<span lang="">Hey everybody! My name is Kate Strickland. I'm from Cypress, Texas (which is basically just Houston) and I went to Cypress Woods High School. In high school, I enjoyed competing in UIL academics and model United Nations. I was also part of Interact Club and National Honor Society. Currently I am majoring in Plan II and business, but I am looking into changing my business major.
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<span lang="">In my spare time, I enjoy reading and watching ridiculous amounts of television. I love many different shows ranging from political dramas like <i>Scandal</i> and <i>House of Cards</i> to somewhat violent shows like <i>The Walking Dead</i> and <i>Game of Thrones </i>to crime dramas like <i>The Blacklist </i>and <i>Castle. </i>I also love listening to music, and my favorite bands, at the moment, are Imagine Dragons, One Republic, and American Authors.<br />
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This is my second first semester of college as I was here in the fall of last year. However, six weeks in, I was hit by a car while riding my bike before class (I used to be an avid cyclist). This accident left me with a broken neck and paralyzed from the neck down. Two surgeries, five months living in hospitals off and on, countless hours of therapy, and a year later I am really excited to get back to school.<br />
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I'm looking forward to getting to meet all of you in class tomorrow!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and my friend Ginny during my first first semester.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me right after the accident.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My dad and I during our second MS-150.<br />
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Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14709664900175207232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8432548173317381260.post-66681697136782652142013-10-30T17:50:00.001-07:002013-11-06T21:18:39.164-08:00Kate Does TIRR Volume 1 Edition 5<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>I figured it was time to add to my blog. I took some time off because I've been perpetually exhausted. From fighting to open up my lungs to getting rid of my bronchial pneumonia to making the move back to TIRR, I've been pretty busy for a girl who lies in bed all day. But since this blog seems to be so popular I decided I should write something. (It's amazing how quickly my boring school blog blew up after I broke my neck; but maybe that's the secret to a good blog. Just get really injured and everyone will be interested.)<div><br></div><div>A quick update: I've been back at TIRR about a week and a half now and man am I tired. These people just don't understand the concept of sleeping in (says the girl who in college woke up between 5 & 6 every morning to ride her bike before classes). The therapy is going well; I am doing mat exercises, pedaling away on an auto bike and riding the tilt-a-whirl table that made me pass out the first week I was here. Also, I am vent weaning!! If all goes well I'll be off the vent by November 18. That means I'll be breathing on my own again, which is actually much harder than you think. But I've learned that about most things we take for granted. Even sitting up requires a coordination of so many different things that I never thought of just to be able to sit for a minute. But I'll leave that topic alone for now. I'll just preach to everybody later since I am not in a preachy mood at present. (You just dodged a bullet!) </div><div><br></div><div>Now that we got the boring medical stuff over with let's talk about some of the stupid stuff I have done. Thing number one: I might have accidentally called my resident a fake doctor. He was in here during my admission assessment (that super fun thing where they poke me all over and I can't feel a thing...seriously they need to learn the definition of paralyzed) and we were talking and for some reason that I can't remember I said "Dr. Davis is my real doctor." Which is technically true because residents come and go but Dr. Davis is my permanent doctor that is in charge of my health while here at TIRR. Of course the resident, being a man, took my words the wrong way. He responded, "What does that make me? A fake doctor?" Of course I denied this but the damage was done. Thankfully he is a rare doctor that doesn't take himself too seriously and has a great sense of humor. Now whenever I see him we just joke about my poor word choice. Stupid thing number two: I might have called another resident a fake doctor. So this time I was talking to the weekend doctor and her resident so I told them the story above. Well, I didn't realize until he told me that her resident was a second year resident as well. In essence I told him that he was a fake doctor just like the first one. Which is totally not true. They passed medical school and they could probably save my life if I started dying. However, they are just not as experienced as the head doctors. Adding insult to injury, this was a really cute resident that everybody has been talking about when he's not around, of course. (Wow. I really hope nobody from the hospital tells either one of these residents if they should happen upon this blog. But they are both attractive in their own right....Platitudes, gotta love 'em.) Stupid thing number three: I might have implied that my tech is a lesbian. Since I have been here for a collective total of about two and a half weeks I decided it was time to find out a little more about the people who help me. In this vein I asked one of my favorite techs about her relationship status and past history. So while I was questioning her I found out she had been married once. I proceeded to tell her, "When introducing yourself should lead with that." She then asked, "To a guy?" Me, being me, of course misunderstood. I thought she was asking if I was asking if she was married to a guy. Since she was asking with great incredulity, I asked if she was married to a girl. This of course led to lots more questions and laughter because I had totally missed the mark. Apparently she thought I was saying that she should introduce herself to guys she meets by saying she was married before. The confusion eventually cleared up but once again my mouth led me into another faux pas. On a different note, my tech is very much single and ready to mingle. I am now accepting applications to date her. Just don't tell her. </div><div><br></div><div>So those are three majorly stupid things I have done so far. Some more kind of cool things: I am getting a power chair (isn't that a scary thought? I'll be the menace of the fourth floor. Crashing into people, speeding down the hallway at a brisk three miles per hour and causing general distress in my wake.) Plus the possibilities are endless: I plan to play Mario Kart where we tie balloons to our chairs, race against each other and bang into each other hard enough to make the others lose their balloons. I have had a lot of visitors, which I absolutely love. Seriously. If you're thinking of visiting me, please do not hesitate to do so, even if you think I won't remember you or don't know you. There's no time like the present to make new friends. Just let my mom know you'd like to visit, and she can let you know when I am not in therapy so we can chat. Feel freeh to bring gastronomical gifts. (Put down the dictionary. You don't need to know what gastronomical means. I'm just kidding about that. You don't have to bring anything. Just yourself and a good attitude.)</div><div><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-ZBUWL6dToEk/UnsipJ_qHGI/AAAAAAAAA1g/XG8IDBnbmNQ/s640/blogger-image--1882393140.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; "><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-ZBUWL6dToEk/UnsipJ_qHGI/AAAAAAAAA1g/XG8IDBnbmNQ/s640/blogger-image--1882393140.jpg"></a></div><div>In my power chair. Like my socks?</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-S2B4oKeUHwQ/UnsirYUUU3I/AAAAAAAAA1s/lVCKIss0A7Y/s640/blogger-image--2054167121.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-S2B4oKeUHwQ/UnsirYUUU3I/AAAAAAAAA1s/lVCKIss0A7Y/s640/blogger-image--2054167121.jpg"></a></div>Sitting on a mat</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-BSg_pb8xfTA/UnsiqRQXZ0I/AAAAAAAAA1o/u-cr3p8_9ZM/s640/blogger-image-1997939970.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-BSg_pb8xfTA/UnsiqRQXZ0I/AAAAAAAAA1o/u-cr3p8_9ZM/s640/blogger-image-1997939970.jpg"></a></div>Trying to type on my iPad. Did you see my Facebook post?</div><div><br></div><div>Well that's it for now. But in the next edition I'm going to talk about some of the cool stuff that has happened since my accident.</div>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14709664900175207232noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8432548173317381260.post-54552374688467194692013-10-22T19:09:00.001-07:002013-10-22T19:27:13.979-07:00Kate Does TIRR Volume I Edition 4Well, I was right, but did we really expect any differently? (But really, I'm wrong sometimes and I'm not that arrogant.) Beginning on Tuesday of last week I tried to tell anybody who would listen that I needed to go back to the ICU. My lungs labored to draw in air and were hindered by these rather large disgusting mucus plugs. They looked like a mix between Silly Putty and that goo you get when you mix Borax solution with Elmer's glue. I was coughing these up 3-4 times each day and whenever they came up my oxygen saturation and breathing always took a nosedive. Despite my constant complaints that my lungs were not functioning correctly I was not moved to ICU for another 3 days. I think it was because I didn't have a little piece of paper that said I graduated from medical school so there was no way I could know what was going on within my own body. Because that makes sense. <div><br></div><div>So finally on Friday night my lungs felt as if they were collapsing and no respiratory therapist seemed able to help me. Ironically, this was the first night my dad stayed with me at TIRR, though it wasn't his fault. After a couple of hours of struggling for air and gasping my demands to be taken to ICU, a brainwave finally ricocheted throughout TIRR: they finally realized I was in critical condition and needed to go to the emergency room. Hallaleujah! We're finally doing what Kate said all along. It only took constant breathing treatments, a bronchoscopy that against my wishes I was awake for and felt way more that I should have, the collective mental capacity of at least twelve medical professionals and a couple of hours of severe respiratory distress to figure out what I needed to get better. </div><div><br></div><div>"Yes," I think to myself as I flail like a fish out of water struggling to breathe. The ambulance finally arrived about an hour later to escort me two blocks. Ridiculous, right? But the paramedic who stayed in the back with me during our seven minute encounter was really cool. </div><div><br></div><div>Three hours pass in the ER and I realize I really hate the ER. Unless you're dying they really just don't care about you. So for those three hours I constantly fought to fill my lungs with a little bit of air because the machine settings were not helping at all. So to survive, I closed my eyes, counted, " 1, 2, 3 inhale," trying to figure out the ventilator to get a little bit of air. Then after all that fighting for my life, shift change occurred bringing me some relief. A new respiratory therapist came in and knew exactly how to fix my vent so I could breathe again. Thanks, Bonnie! You're the best!!</div><div><br></div><div>Finally I arrived in ICU and got hooked up to the Cadillac of ventilation machines. I mean we're talking the McLaren Venge of bicycles--for those who don't know, that's a $20,000 bike. My vent now not only moisturizes my air but heats it to the appropriate temperature to enter my fragile lungs. And the bed, we're talking first class! This sucker can be a bed, a chair, a recliner, an elevated bed. Pretty much any position you can think of this bed can do. Plus the mattress is inflatable to create the perfect support for my body. Needless to say Memorial Hermann MICU is very nice. The food is decent and my caretakers awesome! Additionally, both the doctors I have met thus far have been pretty fantastic people. </div><div><br></div><div>So for a little bit more of an update, I have bronchopneumonia, which means nasty stuff is sitting at the bottom of my lungs and we're trying to get it out. Plus, the lower quadrant of my left lung was mot open. Gee, who predicted that?? I have free rein on my diet, which means I can eat or drink whatever I like. Sounds great, right? In actuality I eat less than a baby. I am only able to take two or three bites of something before I am full. Because of this limitation on my stomach I eat a little bit of everything, devouring salty potato chips, savoring the decadent Snickers bar, nibbling the deliciously sweet blueberry muffin, and mass consuming--at least for me--the flavorful and juicy strawberries, cantaloupe and pineapple. Besides eating, I am also able to talk whenever my cuff is deflated. The cuff is little balloon in my trachea that, when inflated, can isolate the breathing to just my trach, making it easier to breathe. Now that I can talk I don't shut up. Whether it's asking questions of my caretakers to get to know them better, complaining about this itch or that pressure point to my mother or endlessly talking about my favorite subject cycling, my lungs and my vocal chords have definitely gotten a very thorough workout today. </div><div><br></div><div>Well, that's about it. Eventually I'll have to talk about how there is no modesty in hospitals or the pathetic way they get me out of bed. But I am tired so this is the end.</div><div><br></div><div>The End</div><div><br></div><div>(Actually, I lied. This is the picture section.)</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-rpl0jvCoYOU/Umcz-mawTGI/AAAAAAAAA0w/Q38lRl3qhi8/s640/blogger-image-29320823.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-rpl0jvCoYOU/Umcz-mawTGI/AAAAAAAAA0w/Q38lRl3qhi8/s640/blogger-image-29320823.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>The Cadillac of ventilators</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-FL81M-HR9S0/Umcz9-skjuI/AAAAAAAAA0o/A3xLST72B8k/s640/blogger-image--273458428.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-FL81M-HR9S0/Umcz9-skjuI/AAAAAAAAA0o/A3xLST72B8k/s640/blogger-image--273458428.jpg"></a></div>The kind of weird hazmat like curtain that makes me wonder what other diseases are down here with me</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-BqJaICESzSs/Umc0AKrTJAI/AAAAAAAAA1A/YUF3Wr6_I0k/s640/blogger-image--39275896.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-BqJaICESzSs/Umc0AKrTJAI/AAAAAAAAA1A/YUF3Wr6_I0k/s640/blogger-image--39275896.jpg"></a></div>An actual tv</div><div><br></div><div>Viewer discretion is advised. What you are about to see is incredibly gross and the 8th wonder of the hospital as all the doctors, medical students and other medical professionals all seem to puzzle over how such goopy nastiness can arise from my lungs.</div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-SngG-RTe3fY/Umcz_SVXnvI/AAAAAAAAA04/7VWQLzlglY0/s640/blogger-image--1890925556.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-SngG-RTe3fY/Umcz_SVXnvI/AAAAAAAAA04/7VWQLzlglY0/s640/blogger-image--1890925556.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14709664900175207232noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8432548173317381260.post-16286663583597601452013-10-17T19:21:00.000-07:002013-10-17T19:31:21.180-07:00Kate Does TIRR Volume 1 Edition 3Teeth clenched, I focus my every effort on my task. Squeezing my eyes shut I harshly draw in a deep breath as every muscle in my body strains to fulfill my brain's request. Fire rips through my muscles as I tell myself just one more second, keep going. With a grunt I release all of the tension in my body. Opening my eyes I check my progress. I have moved my right arm forward two inches.<br>
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Now almost completed with my first week of intense therapy, I can honestly say this is the toughest struggle of my life. Just sitting in my chair exhausts me within minutes. I don't sleep and I feel tired all the time. Seriously, I am taking cat naps like a grandpa. Getting out of bed each morning is a whole ordeal. It takes about thirty minutes to get me dressed and into my chair. Of course, by the time I'm in my chair, I am ready to get back to bed.<br>
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This week has also been full of lots of fun times. One morning my heart wouldn't stop pounding so I freaked out and made the resident come to see me. Though of course he refused to give me medicine. Another day, after physical therapy where they tried to get me to an almost standing posting by tying me to a board, I completely passed out. When I woke, of course it was the same resident who I made come down for me plenty of times before. He probably thinks I'm a nutcase. After waking up from passing out I found myself surrounded by 10 or 15 people. Apparently the Rapid Response is really rapid after all, which is kind of reassuring knowing that if I start dying all the doctors and respiratory technicians and nurses will rush to my side. Immediately upon waking up I tried to convince the crowd of people staring at me to send me back to ICU. When that failed, I tried for sedatives but of course those leave me awake at night. Losing all pride at this point, I actually asked one of the doctors to punch me really hard and knock me out for the rest of the day. Of course he said no. Stupid Hippocratic Oath!<br>
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But on an actually positive note, my room is shaping up quite nicely. Flowers cover every surface and birthday balloons cling to life along the edges. But one of my most favorite aspects of my room is my photo wall. Created by Chrystine the wall features pictures of fond memories and selfies of friends with well wishes. I would like to expand this wall and would appreciate any photos you could send.<div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-P9nmgR8oDZo/UmCdd8giH1I/AAAAAAAAA0Y/W6gIs0FsO8I/s640/blogger-image-2049996620.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-P9nmgR8oDZo/UmCdd8giH1I/AAAAAAAAA0Y/W6gIs0FsO8I/s640/blogger-image-2049996620.jpg"></a></div> My photo wall<br>
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Also I got a new trach in my throat that allows me to speak normally. No more Grudge voice. Although last night I sounded like an evil cartoon villain because my lungs were full of nastiness. My mom and I had a good laugh over that one.</div>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14709664900175207232noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8432548173317381260.post-42543118032097027672013-10-13T14:27:00.001-07:002013-10-13T16:16:58.746-07:00Kate Does TIRR: Volume 1 Edition 2Well, yesterday was my birthday and let me tell you, of all the things I imagined I'd be doing, spending it in a hospital wasn't one of them. But you know, UT did beat OU yesterday so Hell has probably frozen solid and pigs are likely flying. What I really wanted to do for my birthday was get up and do a Saturday ride. I wanted to see how much all my riding in Austin has affected my riding at home. I've climbed some big suckers (even crashed because I couldn't turn my pedals...thankfully nobody saw the crash, that would have been embarrassing) trying to get stronger. My goal was to keep up with or maybe even put the hurt on the big boys ( I'm looking at you Lance, Jeff, Rob, Marcus and all the other fast guys). <div><br></div><div>But even though I didn't get to spend my birthday the way I planned, it was still pretty good. I was truly touched by all of the people, cards, messages and well wishes that came my way. I guess I never realized how much of a support system I actually have. If I can say one positive thing about this accident, it has truly taught me how much I am loved. Plus I get to milk this thing for its benefits; I'm thinking a puppy or possibly a Cervelo S5....</div><div><br></div><div>From the teddy bear Celeo gave me to the beautiful "selfies" Chrystine got for me, all of my presents are treasured. They're just clogging up my room a little bit! By the way, sorry for most likely misspelling your name Celeo. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-vRw2C4kisLY/Ulso6y5oerI/AAAAAAAAAz8/zmhrm41RwLU/s640/blogger-image--2140142342.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-vRw2C4kisLY/Ulso6y5oerI/AAAAAAAAAz8/zmhrm41RwLU/s640/blogger-image--2140142342.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-5IXkoG3oN6s/Ulso77-wbfI/AAAAAAAAA0E/Tp0uT1CUvxA/s640/blogger-image--1220423758.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-5IXkoG3oN6s/Ulso77-wbfI/AAAAAAAAA0E/Tp0uT1CUvxA/s640/blogger-image--1220423758.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-KEBHUHC2mx0/UlsQJqyrFhI/AAAAAAAAAzs/vRUvfz5_Q_w/s640/blogger-image-844480272.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-KEBHUHC2mx0/UlsQJqyrFhI/AAAAAAAAAzs/vRUvfz5_Q_w/s640/blogger-image-844480272.jpg"></a></div><div><br></div>Also yesterday,I figured out how to talk around this big old hunk of plastic in my neck. However my voice sounds like the love child of the Grudge and a goat. It even kind of freaks me out sometimes, so I can't imagine what everyone else must think of my less than harmonic tones. But it is a voice after all. So I'll take it. I just might freak out small children. </div>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14709664900175207232noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8432548173317381260.post-42895275210754029702013-10-13T09:19:00.001-07:002013-10-13T11:06:04.174-07:00Kate Does TIRR: Volume 1, Edition 1Hellooooooo Everybody!!! That's a "Despicable Me" reference in case you missed it.<br>
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Since I am no longer in college I have decided to repurpose my World Lit Blog to a "Kate Does TIRR" blog. But mostly because starting a whole new blog was way beyond the electronic prowess of a quadriplegic cripple and her electronically challenged personal assistant. Just be happy we put pictures in last week's blog. That was a whole ordeal!<br>
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The good news: I got moved to a rehab facility in Houston, I got to get out of my bed, I got to eat ice chips, I really like the TIRR staff, I got a neck brace that fits my face proving the rumors true: Kate does have a nose and mouth. (Wow! I'm talking about myself in the third person...weird!) Some sensations are returning to my arms, my left foot, though nowhere near fully restored. I can also move my arms like an erratically dancing monkey, but mostly I look like an idiot. But hey, Rome wasn't built in a day, or some cliche like that.<br>
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The less than stellar parts of my stay so far include all the stupid pre-tests. I've been poked, prodded, manipulated and examined like a lab rat from freshman year. They ask me, "Can you feel this or that?" And I reply, "No Einstein, I'm paralyzed." Looks like somebody needs to go back to medical school. That's what I say in my head. In reality, I lie there doing an Oscar-worthy impersonation of a dead log.<br>
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I really miss all of my friends and the medical staff from ICU at Brackenridge. The Respiratory Therapists (RT's) here, though awesome in their own right, aren't Sade or Danielle, ditto the nurses; I really miss Arianne, Jackie and Jennifer. <br>
<br><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-1zqfBV3WJeQ/UlrhBp6e80I/AAAAAAAAAzU/lYiwgz3g6vQ/s640/blogger-image-1541638385.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-1zqfBV3WJeQ/UlrhBp6e80I/AAAAAAAAAzU/lYiwgz3g6vQ/s640/blogger-image-1541638385.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-obW8OqimRXk/UlrhCjbKChI/AAAAAAAAAzc/uZEuVu4OsHo/s640/blogger-image--1807676296.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-obW8OqimRXk/UlrhCjbKChI/AAAAAAAAAzc/uZEuVu4OsHo/s640/blogger-image--1807676296.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14709664900175207232noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8432548173317381260.post-44743471903115962332013-10-08T07:22:00.000-07:002013-10-08T07:45:18.811-07:00The Week of October 1The week started out with a bang. Literally. I was enjoying a fantastic Tuesday morning ride after a terrible ride on Monday due to a flat tire. Fifteen miles from home. Whats's that thing about Murphy's Law? Oh, yeah, everything that can go wrong will go wrong. One moment I am on my bike on Loop 360 having a great ride and the next thing I know I am waking up in a hospital after surgery. The news was not what I wanted to hear: I had just come out of surgery to repair my broken neck. Additionally, I had copious amounts of road rash, two broken ribs and I was hooked up to a ventilator. I felt broken, worthless, crushed and stupid. I know that road is dangerous but I rode it anyway never thinking that I would be the one to get hurt.<br>
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But through all this I have learned how much my friends and family truly do love me. "Cue the tears." My childhood friends, distant relatives, past and current teachers and my many new friends at UT have all shown their love through cards, gifts, visits, Facebook and email. That's made me feel especially loved, treasured and valued. I sincerely admire their devotion, generosity and well wishes.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14709664900175207232noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8432548173317381260.post-62370768970041988272013-09-23T13:58:00.000-07:002013-09-23T14:01:22.542-07:00Best and Worst<h2 style="text-align: center;">
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The Best and Worst of the Week of September 16</h2>
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The worst of last week was probably the super dreary, torrential downpour we experienced here in Austin. Though I actually enjoy rain, I wasn't particularly fond of the rivers running down Dean Keaton as my best friend and I tried to make our way back to my dorm from class. Though we had an umbrella, the flimsy cover proved to be of little use to us, for we both were throughly drenched by the time we finished running to Duren. Additionally, the rain completely derailed my Friday ride as I had no desire to get a flat tire (something much more likely in the rain) in the town of Buda (where I was supposed to ride) leaving me stranded twenty miles from campus on a test day. Instead, my forty mile ride became a quick twelve mile spin culminating in me completely freaking out when my bike started making very ominous noises that I thought meant my bike frame had cracked. After slightly freaking out, I went through my day, waiting for the opportunity to be able to take Cevie (my bike) into a bike shop. Thankfully, the creaking was only a minor problem and easily fixable. I felt grumpy, frustrated, and terrified I was going to have to tell my parent I broke my really expensive road bike.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rule Number 9 from the Velominati (a cyclist's bible)</td></tr>
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The best of my past week was yesterday when I had a super busy day. First, the Texas Cycling team rode out to Pflugerville, and I met a lot of other riders I hadn't met previously. I also got to meet one of the women who rides for UT, so that was inspiring and really cool. After the ride, I got back to my dorm and shoved some lunch down my throat and headed back out to the Liberal Arts Council's member retreat at Pease Park. I met the other people on my particular committee and we all were divided into separate "houses" to compete with each other throughout the year. After having a new member meeting, I jumped back on to my bike and rode all the way back to my dorm to quickly change to go eat with my best friend. After another quick meal, we headed over to the Fine Arts Building to watch Jane Eyre for her Emerging Selves signature course for Plan II. The entire day I felt included, purposeful and comforted by the constant activity and knowing what I was doing.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-q5XSWx40q40/UkCrM24bTUI/AAAAAAAAAvA/qe_5hgKdWsw/s1600/sloth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-q5XSWx40q40/UkCrM24bTUI/AAAAAAAAAvA/qe_5hgKdWsw/s320/sloth.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My LAC family's tribal animal: The Sloth.</td></tr>
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<br />Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14709664900175207232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8432548173317381260.post-40030873164819261162013-09-16T13:43:00.002-07:002013-09-16T13:44:01.411-07:00Best and Worst <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Week of September 9</h2>
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Hi, my name is Kate and I'm addicted to cycling (in case you haven't already gotten that by now). This past week, I didn't ride my bike for four straight days due to illness. Since I had that terrible hacking cough and could hardly breathe through my nose, I felt it best to take a week off. However, even though I logically knew that I needed the extra sleep and relaxation to get better, this knowledge in no way made my withdrawal from riding any less painful. During these four days I felt anxious, lazy, and almost depressed though that may be too strong a word for the longing I felt to be back on my bike.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me without my bike is like this kid without his video games.</td></tr>
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The best part of my week was getting to see Judy Smith speak on campus. For those who don't know, Judy Smith is the real life inspiration for the ABC drama Scandal (AKA the best show ever). She gave three pieces of advice for all of us aspiring longhorns. Though her three pieces of advice have certainly been said before, they are all very important and are cliche for a reason: they're true. First she told us to stay true to ourselves, for there is much power in staying true to yourself and following your own path. Second, be prepared for whatever life may throw your way. From a new club position to an opportunity to study abroad in Russia, one should always be prepared to embrace life's many opportunities. Lastly, morals and values are important. These don't have to be from religion or from your parents, but you should have your own set of morals and values and stick to them.</div>
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Besides giving us good advice, Ms. Smith was very approachable and down to earth. She shared with us some of her past stories and was very self-deprecating. She laughed with us and interacted with the audience. When one boy tried to take a sneaky selfie with Ms. Smith in the background, she called him out on it and told him to come around and take a real picture with her. She made everyone feel comfortable and more importantly, made us all laugh numerous times. Her presentation was engaging and her demeanor seemed to draw everyone in, wanting to hear all she had to say. At the end of the event, many people rushed over to get a picture with her, Erika and myself included. Though the picture line was very long and many of the event's organizers tried to just make us take one big group picture, Ms Smith patiently insisted that we all have our chance to get a picture with her. In short, she was incredible. Attending this event inspired me, filled me with joy, and thrilled me at the opportunity to meet one of my idols.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Erika and I with Judy Smith</td></tr>
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Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14709664900175207232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8432548173317381260.post-22696848244044462712013-09-09T07:55:00.000-07:002013-09-09T07:55:01.006-07:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Best and Worst</span><br />
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This week was pretty awesome overall. I dropped my hardest class once I found out I didn't need to take it, making me feel relieved, lifting the stress off my shoulders. I got to hang out with a bunch of Plan II-ers at Getaway where I played volleyball for the first time in almost three years which brought back fond memories of my time as a high school volleyball player. I hung out with my good friends, watching the pitiful outcome of the UT v BYU game and eating homemade puppy chow and pumpkin cake balls. But the best part of my week was actually today (I count Sunday as part of the week) when I got to go on my first UT Cycling team ride this morning. Our sixty-five mile ride took us from Gregory Gym all the way to San Marcos. I felt enthusiastic to begin my next four years riding with this group of cyclists, connected to a group of equally bike-obsessed people (finally guys who want to talk Tour de France and USA Pro Challenge with me!) and fired up to begin racing for Texas Cycling.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Community and friendship in cycling as Chris Froome rides to his <br />2013 Tour de France victory with his teammates.</td></tr>
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The worst part of this past week was definitely getting sick. I typically rarely get sick, so suffering through the headaches and sore throat from my cold really made me feel miserable and lethargic.</div>
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<br />Hopefully this cold will go away soon, so I can begin this next week on a more positive note!</div>
Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14709664900175207232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8432548173317381260.post-28437157392433732902013-09-08T20:55:00.002-07:002013-09-08T20:55:49.858-07:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Animal Guides</span></div>
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Well, I have begun my journey to discovering my spirit animal. Today, I tried both Steven Farmer and the Shamanic meditations. Though in the first I was able to experience a couple of animals including a gray wolf and a horse, I plan to try the third meditation and repeat all three in the coming week. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Note: Google had so many cute images, I am breaking up all my paragraphs with them.</td></tr>
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After reading the pages in our course anthology on spirit animals, I think my next attempts at meditation will be better. I think I am over thinking some of the meditation. Is the scene or animals I see something significant or something I am just making happen? I like the advice of <i>Animal Speak </i>by Ted Andrews gives: though I may not succeed at first I should remember that "there is no 'right' path. Be patient with yourself, and learn to tune into your unconscious" (127). I think much of my difficulty stems from my difficulty to believe in this whole concept. Like Andrews writes, I am a product of modern society where "there is a tendency to scoff at such possibilities" (118). </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is super cute!</td></tr>
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Though I am having trouble with my attempts to reconnect and "reawaken [my] lost belief in magic, dreams, and possibilities," after reading the real purpose and power of spirit animals, I am very interested. I like the idea that I have a responsibility as part of this world to know about the environment in which I reside (117). These spirit animals can help us in our lives and may come and go as we need them. Like Gerald Vizenor said, "native totems are personal associations and necessary metaphors." I think the idea that these power animals can come aid us in our times of need or signal something to come is truly fascinating. These animals can "help us to recognize our own innate abilities. They help empower us and protect us. Their energies can be used to help heal, inspire, and grow" (118).</div>
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Another problem I think I may face in finding my spirit animal is my preconceived idea of what I would like my spirit animals to be. I think being a red fox would be really cool and suit my personality well, and I think that belief may color my meditation. I tried the meditation before reading, so hopefully now that I understand the idea that "the animal chooses the person not the other way around," this will not play a role in my future attempts (120). I think this problem with letting ego go and realizing not everyone is an eagle or a bear is a tough hurdle to overcome. However, like Andrews wrote, every animal is special in its own way and has its own power. "You will find your success in the animal that comes to you," not the one you arbitrarily pick because it's the king of the jungle.</div>
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Another part of the reading I found particularly interesting in the fact that entire groups can have a common totem. At the University of Texas, this totem is obviously the longhorn. I think the longhorn plays a significant role in uniting us all together. Though we all come from different places and backgrounds, we are all longhorns. The hand sign is the outward projection of this truth. The longhorn "becomes a guide to making the relationship stronger and more productive" (121). I think this is exactly the role the longhorn serves. At sporting events we all unite in our longhorn burnt orange and cheer for our fellow longhorns. In classes, though we may not know everyone's name, we know we all belong to the university and thus are connected to each other.</div>
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The reading on the spirit guides really interested me (as evidenced by the multitude of quotes...sorry guys writing after me). I am looking forward to discovering my spirit animal in the coming days!</div>
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Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14709664900175207232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8432548173317381260.post-3242943781429387062013-09-02T16:37:00.002-07:002013-09-02T21:11:03.622-07:00<span style="font-size: large;">A New Chapter:</span> The Best and the Worst of Week One<br />
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A little over a week into my new life in Austin and I've already experienced many highs and lows. From the stress of finding new classes to the fun of hanging out with friends, UT Austin is unlike anything I've done before, not that I was expecting anything different.<br />
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Let's start with the worst of the past week. On Saturday the 31st of August, I went on my very first group bike ride here in Austin. Coming from the flatlands of Houston, I knew my very first ride would be painful as I would desperately attempt to conquer the mountains all around the city. With this in mind, I carefully selected a group ride from Mellow Johnny's advertised as "a great fit for the intermediate rider." As a four year veteran to the sport, I thought this was a great selection for my first Austin ride. Six minutes into the ride I quickly corrected that notion. We hit incredibly steep <strike>mountains</strike> hills and my heart rate flew well above my theoretical maximum. Legs burning, I pedaled as fast as I could up the walls that the Austin riders seemed to not feel. Being dropped by the group, I felt discouraged and defeated. Back home I'm considered a very good rider, so this crushing low damaged my confidence and my pride.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty much my Saturday...</td></tr>
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I staggered into the halfway point ready to call it a day after only fifteen miles (a laughable distance for the seasoned cyclist as we typically ride 40-80 miles on a Saturday ride). However, I made it back home, body weary and mind pessimistic about my future of Austin cycling. To top this disastrous ride, two days later I got miserably lost on an out-and-back ride which literally means you ride somewhere, turn around, and go back the same way. (I am very talented at getting lost apparently...) Though I started riding away from both the campus and downtown, I somehow found myself in the heart of downtown thoroughly bypassing where I was supposed to go. To add on to my frustration and misery, the clouds had to open up and literally rain on my parade.<br />
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Needless to say this addition experience furthered my feelings of inadequacy and inferiority. I was ready to quit cycling as a whole. But finally, with help of my iPhone and more aimless riding, I finally made it back to Duren.</div>
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Since then I have ridden almost everyday and thankfully I haven't gotten lost again, though I have been dropped multiple times and even had to walk up an incredibly steep hill (the ultimate shame for a cyclist). But each day gets a little better and I remind myself that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger (thanks Kelly Clarkson).</div>
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Now for the best part of my week! It's so difficult deciding what the best part of being at UT should be. I have loved making many new friends (I will learn everyone's name eventually...I hope), experiencing college classes, playing various games like werewolves and Cards Against Humanity, eating fantastic food, and I could go on and on. I think really just being in Austin and at UT is really the best part of my past week. I felt proud to be here, inspired to be around so many other like-minded students (especially us Plan II-ers), and simply happy to be here. Like Mr. Kanamori told his fourth year students, "We only have one life. So let's really enjoy it, okay?" I plan to spend the next four years doing that and more.</div>
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<br />Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14709664900175207232noreply@blogger.com1