Project Two

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.

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.

1

“Mrs. de Vil, how can help you today?” My two paws asks the pinched faced two paws.

“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.”

“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 –”

“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.

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. 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.

2

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.

“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.

 

3

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.

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.

4

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.

5

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.

 

6

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 A Report to the Academy 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.”[1] 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 The Panther. “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.”[2] 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.

 

7

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.”[3] 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.

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.”[4] 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.

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.

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 Earthlings 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.

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 Earthlings. 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.

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.

Word count with quotes: 2315
Word count without quotes: 2216

Endnotes

1.       Kafka’s Report to the Academy. “Compassion and Reading in World Literature," ed. Jerome Bump (Austin, Texas: 2014) Pg. 674.

2.       "Rainer Maria Rilke." Compassion and Reading in World Literature, ed. Jerome Bump (Austin: unknown, 2014), 270.

3.       "Compassion according to the Oxford English Dictionary." In Compassion and Reading in World Literature, ed. Jerome Bump (Austin: unknown, 2014), 202.

4.       "Sympathy." Compassion and Reading in World Literature, ed. Jerome Bump (Austin: unknown, 2014), 207.

Images

1. Picture of someone knocking on the door. http://www.seikokai.org/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/knocking-on-doors.jpg 
2. Linda realizing she's going to have to give up Leo.http://mashable.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/Love-and-Other-Drugs.gif 
3. picture of a dog similar looking to Bill Murray https://altornadoanimals.files.wordpress.com/2011/05/found-target-dog.jpg?w=800
4. picture of a stray dog http://cataids.files.wordpress.com/2010/12/stray-dog.jpg
5. picture of bill Murray at APA! http://www.petango.com/sms/photos/1112/6fd5f65f-ea36-4948-bfa1-9dd80aefa14e.jpg
6. picture of my sister and I with Bill Murray 
7. letting go of the past picture http://www.ericdowsett.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/Fotolia_34967971_XS1-300x200.jpg

Appendix

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.

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.

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?

Images of Bill Murray taken by me:

Video:

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[1]Kafka’s Report to the Academy. “Compassion and Reading in World Literature," ed. Jerome Bump (Austin, Texas: 2014) Pg. 674.

[2] "Rainer Maria Rilke." Compassion and Reading in World Literature, ed. Jerome Bump (Austin: unknown, 2014), 270.

[3] "Compassion according to the Oxford English Dictionary." In Compassion and Reading in World Literature, ed. Jerome Bump (Austin: unknown, 2014), 202.

[4] "Sympathy." Compassion and Reading in World Literature, ed. Jerome Bump (Austin: unknown, 2014), 207.

Earthlings Part Two

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.

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.

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).

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.

Echo

Earthlings Part One

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.

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).

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.

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.

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.

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.

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).

Best and Worst

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 comfortable, relaxed, and connected 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 reassuring and soothing to me. They are completely comfortable around me which makes me feel human and normal.

 

My friends can always me laugh or feel better.

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 pain and regret. So, the only thing to do now is to just move on.

October 1, 2013

 The death of Cevie (aka my bike)

Best and Worst

                      

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 terrified 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 frustrated, annoyed that I can't just walk campus like everyone else, and a bit unsettled if I'm making right decision to stay.

      

                                    This might make campus easier to traverse

 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 connected and self-assured being with my family and returned to campus feeling rested and calm.

Best and Worst

 

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.

 

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.

 

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.

 

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.

 

World Lit Introduction

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.

In my spare time, I enjoy reading and watching ridiculous amounts of television. I love many different shows ranging from political dramas like Scandal and House of Cards to somewhat violent shows like The Walking Dead and Game of Thrones to crime dramas like The Blacklist and Castle. I also love listening to music, and my favorite bands, at the moment, are Imagine Dragons, One Republic, and American Authors.

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.

I'm looking forward to getting to meet all of you in class tomorrow!

Me and my friend Ginny during my first first semester.

Me right after the accident.

 

My dad and I during our second  MS-150.