You know, you are doing the same exact thing to me that you claim everyone else is doing to you. I figure that I will stop trying, because it doesn’t seem to matter to you anymore, so why should it matter to me? I am done trying to be there for you when you come crying to me about your life and everything that is going on. I’ve tried to help you – I’ve tried to be upbeat - I’ve tried to tell you that everything will be okay. You don’t seem to understand that while you are bitching about your life and your problems, you forget that I have some of the same ones. I have different ones as well. I am really trying to be happy with my life, because all you can do right is be miserable. That is such a downer. You act like everything is so bad, but you fail to see that you have been given most of your life on a silver platter. Stop complaining when you have the world at your feet, and you didn’t even ask for it. You don’t even want it – but it’s there. I worked hard to get to where I am, at least you can show some gratitude to those who gave it to you. You don’t even try anymore to be my friend, and that hurts me. I am done being pushed to the backburner. So, I figured this. If you want to be my friend, you can put forth the effort from now on. I am so done trying harder and harder for you. It is really getting on my nerves and I will not let it destroy a part of me that was destroyed before. I just don’t get you anymore.

If anyone asks me who this is about, I will rip their head off and feed the rest of them to the wolves.

my silent dream.

When other little girls were wishing to one day grow up and be princesses, teachers, gymnasts, hairdressers, and mothers, I was sitting there hopefully pining away to be a writer. Throughout my days of carelessly running down streets, riding bikes until dusk, playing with my dolls and Barbies, I always thought that I could instill some sort of change in this world. Whether it was small or large, I always believed that I could be a woman with enough character, enough confidence, enough willpower, to change the life of at least one person in this big great wide world. I feel for those less fortunate, I reach out for those who need my help, I give and give only to be not as grateful as I should be when I receive. But still, I want to be a writer. I want to publish a book. I have one small problem with that dream, though. I have no idea what I would even write it about it.

Someone once told me to write an autobiography. My life is far from being interesting enough to mold into a book. It would only become bland and powerless and give nothing to aspiring young girls (and boys). I am still searching for that one thing I can and will write a book about for the world to read and say, “Wow, this girl has some talent.” 

I never embraced the fact that I wanted to write until I was in high school. I always did really well in English class. I loved to read all the short stories we were assigned, I absolutely loved writing essays, I loved essay tests. I still love all those things. I still enjoy sitting down with a book in hand, a couple cookies, and a glass of milk. Growing up, my mother was always reading. Sometimes she read more than one book at a time. My sister Anne wrote in a diary every night, something I did not do faithfully until I was the age of 14. I suddenly found an outlet for everything I was feeling, doing, seeing, touching, smelling, understanding. It began as nothing more than entries written about my day and what I did, and drastically turned into what I refer to as “real writing” – something with passion and drive and with a little oomph behind it. Something with thought combined with words, and attempts to try to make things sound good.

I remember in eighth grade when I got the highest achievement award in English. I was so proud of myself. Freshman year of high school, things changed. I did not apply myself and things didn’t come as easily as they used to. I got a C in English, and was devastated. But I still loved English. I loved writing and reading and everything that it was entailed. I was on the Spell Bowl team for four years in high school. I once won a contest in my sophomore English class for memorizing past and future tenses of odd words such as slay.

I also found another passion of mine in high school. Riding horses become a huge part of my life, and when I found a college where I could do so, I lapped it up. I fell in love with horses, and put behind them what I have always longed to do. Recently, I have found that passion in my writing again. I have informed my mother, my father, my sisters, and my closest friends. Now it is time to inform the Xanga community and those who read my site.

I am adding an English major into my academic pursual. I will still also be majoring in Equestrian Science and minoring in Business Administration. I just could not live my life knowing that I gave up one dream to pursue another, especially when I am at the moment in my life where I have the world at my feet and can do with it as I please.

I am too annoyed to actually write something. Maybe tomorrow.

truth hurts.

The days were getting longer, the nights shorter. Nothing else was changing – it was so stagnant, so foreboding, so annoyingly stupid. He was once again “missing” – she couldn’t wait for his excuse this time. Would it be that he had to work late, or did the boys call to have drinks, or did the game run over time? She really needed to stop caring, but her heart would not let her. The dull moonlight shone through the smudged window where her fingerprints had laid many a nights, her eyes looking out every so often out to see if his car was coming down the street silently. The clock in the kitchen shone 12:29, its red glare reflecting onto the crisp white stove underneath, still heavy with the smell of the pot roast made hours beforehand, the leftovers being kept warm inside for him. She was being too nice.

Her delicate pale hands cradled a midnight blue coffee cup, halfway full of the blackest hot liquid she had made in years. Brown hair pulled back into ponytail, her nightgown grazed right below her knees – and as she brought the mug to her glossed lips, she heard the car pulling in the driveway. She put the coffee down, crossing her legs and her arms tightly. Her mouth was pulled into a straight line, sitting there waiting for him to walk into the door. The key turned the lock, and the door creaked open. “Oh hi, honey,” he said, seeming a tad bit surprise. “I thought you would be in bed already.”

“Oh hi? Where have you been, Sam?” “Damn, Caroline, can I get in the door?”
“No. Do I have to ask again? Where –” “I was at work, there’s a new project that came in. I wanted to get an upperhand on it. Calm down.”
“I called your work. You weren’t–” “Ok fine. I was at Jack’s.”
“Stop this Sam.” “Stop what?” “Your lies.” “I’m not lieing, Car.” She stood up from the table as he walked further into the kitchen. Her eyes looked sad, she had caught him redhanded, in a lie.

“You know, I am trying really hard to understand you, Sam.” “What have–” “So, who is she?” “What?” “Who IS she, Sam?” “What are you talking about?” “Oh please. You think I’m an idiot. That I don’t know what is going on. Just tell me who she is.” “You know, I will tell you what is going on, okay?”

She kept uncrossing and re-crossing her arms, she wasn’t comfortable in her own skin anymore. She suddenly felt so alone. “Shoot.” “This is a mistake, Caroline.” “What is a mistake?” “Me. You. Us. This.” “Excuse me?” “You wanted the truth, right?” “Yeah.” “Well, here it is: I don’t love you anymore. But I am not cheating on you. I would never do that.”

Her eyes filled with tears, her world was crumbling down in front of her. “You tell me this after 6 years? You tell me this was a mistake? So, what was I to you after you stopped loving me? A guaranteed fuck? God, Sam. What about –” “Shit, Caroline. Don’t make it out to be that I used you.” “You just made me feel that way. Thank you.” “You can make me out be the bad guy. But I still think that all of this is a mistake.” “All of it?” “Yes. Every part of it. We should have never done this.”

She turned around to look away from him and saw the one thing she least expected.

“Daddy, am I a mistake, too?”

Her purple Carebear nightgown was bunched at the sides by her small chubby fingers. She rocked on her heels, wiggling the pink painted toenails – that her mother had done - every couple of seconds. “No, Kimberly, I didn’t mean you,” Sam said, bending down on one knee when he reached where she was standing. Her deep green eyes were already filling with tears, as she had heard most of everything at the very end of their conversation. She very likely could not acknowledge what exactly was going on, but if Mommy was crying, there had to be something immensely wrong.

Caroline gave Sam a look of disgust. Scooping up Kim in her arms, she ascended the steps to tuck her blonde-haired daughter back into bed. “Mommy?” “Yeah, sweetheart?” “Did Daddy really mean that?” “I don’t know, Baby.”

As soon as Kim was tucked in and her eyelids were fluttering into sleep, Caroline practically ran down the grey carpeted stairs to once again confront her suddenly idiotic husband. “Sam! Where are you?!” “I’m in the living room. Chill the hell out.” “Okay, seriously, Sam. What is this all about?” Caroline said, storming into the living room to see Sam sitting casually on the black upholstered sofa, arms spread along the back.

 ”What is what about? You wanted the truth.” “You actually honestly think our daughter is a mistake?” “Well…” “Oh my God, Sam. Seriously. I don’t even know who you are anymore.” “Car, I never said that we should take it back, because obviously we can’t. But I really do believe this was a mistake.” “The product of our love was a mistake?”

“What love, Caroline?”

Updated links:
thenarrator speaks defining words, MockGod fights what many fear, halotic_coquetry analyzes catering, neuroticcowgirl is thinking, but wishes to be doing.

Summer Memories
Of The 1990s

Up at sunrise and in bed soon after sunset, we never missed a second to have fun. Those days seem so long ago, and our hearts long for them back. Growing up is not easy, but we cannot stop it from happening. Some days I see in your eyes the wishful thinking of running in the sprinkler – our bathing suits barely getting wet as we avoided the water meticulously, our hair dripping wet after dipping our heads into the shooting water, the laughs and the giggles and the so-called tricks we did as we jumped over the sprays of faucet water. The dog sat on the porch and barked, our parents sipped yellow lemonade in glasses covered in condensation – they were there to wipe off our grass-covered feet.

All those hours spent tending to our restaurant, serving our invisible customers only the best food made that never existed. It was perfect – we had everything we needed to run a real one, at the ages still in the single digits. I specifically remember “dropping” things – imaginary breaking of glasses and dishes and the food spilling everywhere. (Fake, of course.) That one time we extended the place to include the outside – stretching across the back porch onto the concrete pad. We thought we were so cool.

But the one summer where we had a lemonade stand out on Greenwood Street during fair time was most likely the best ever. That was also the time we had the toads with the twins next door, who to this day have not spoken to us since we had the huge disagreement about those toads. I do not think we made much off of the lemonade stand – but we were out there every day for a while. The day that Small Fry jumped into the sewer (because I am a dumbass), and we tried to get him out by pouring juice down the drain to “raise the water”. We were so full of hope all those days.

Ok, now, I know you remember playing Kick the Can with all the boys who lived on our street, and some of the girls – and staying out until it got dark to catch the fireflies, putting them in a jar, and then naming them as we released them. And – ooo – all the chalk towns we made, riding our bikes around and going to different “stores” and pick our “kids” up from school. That was awesome. I remember the afternoons where we swung on the rickety old swingset that was so unstable the feet kept coming up out of the ground if too much weight was on it – and trying to swing high enough to touch the branches of the trees, also naming those. We played house many times, but wow – we were so extensive and in-depth with it. It was just so hardcore.

I could go into the embarassing things we used to do – like pretend to have babies or have waterballoon baby chicks and eventually kill them all off or, omg, Juji – remember that one night you and I were playing truth or dare and I dared you to moon the next car that drove by our house and you did. That was hilarious. We imitated so many shows – Hey Dude!; Power Rangers; the Olympic gymnastics (I was always Amy Chow, I am not sure why) – the piano bench was the balance beam and the flippy thing that I cannot remember the name to right now; and then we played Babysitters Club (remember watching that movie a billion times, and I know we all read all the books). Juj has the dolls. We always made Ap be Mallory with her “rat-nest” hair.

The 90s was such a good era – even with my connecting ponytails and way coordinating outfits and blue jelly shoes that got mud in them one time at recess and damn that seems like forever ago.

The summers have changed now. I still love them, though. Hot weather and a lot of working at the waterpark and weekly porch chats with Anne and horrible tan lines and Blockbuster movie rentals.

Summers will never get old.

Her deep golden hair fell partway across her semi-tanned face, shading the misery that resonated in her brown eyes. The car’s engine revved as she sat at the stoplight – the music coming from the speakers drowned out everything around her. She gazed around her – people seemed to be so happy, talking on their cell phones and singing along to the radio. But there she was, full of hopelessness. Her life was so monotonous – she woke each morning at six o’clock, proceeded to take a shower and drink her coffee, leaving for work and then coming home at the same time every day, eating dinner alone, watching the news, taking a bubble bath and finally going to bed.

She needed a change.

Checking her mail when she got home, she saw a peculiar envelope. No stamp, no postmark, no return address. Just her name scrawled off-center in blue ink: Samantha Donellsan. She opened it with much caution, wondering where she had seen that handwriting before. A small white card was inside the envelope – as she pulled it out and started to open it, she was still confused as to what it was going to say. The same handwriting was inside the card, and it read:

Sammie,
I know if I called, you would not have answered. You probably still hate me – but right now, you need to know something that is more important than any quarrel we ever had. Mom is in the hospital – she is on her last leg of life. I am not sure if you know this, but a couple years ago, Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. They thought they had it gone - but it has come back for the fourth time. Mom has requested to see you, Sammie. Please come to the hospital on Polka St. Ask at the front desk for her room number.
Love, Karen

“Are you kidding me?,” Samantha said aloud, “They ignore me for five years and now they want me to come visit my so-called mother on her dying day.” Reluctantly and not knowing what to expect, she picked up her purse and went out to her car. She figured that she might as well grant the woman’s request.

As she drove to the hospital, she tried to push all the memories from the past out of her mind, but they kept creeping back up. She knew her entire immediate family would be there, and she most dreaded seeing her so-called father and her brother. Parking her car, she took a deep breath and told herself to suck it up. They have changed since the last time she saw them, she swore to herself.

But how wrong she was.

When she walked into the hospital room, they were all the same. The memories flooded back as she stared at her weak mother laying on the bed, eyes closed. Standing around her mother was Tom and Karen, Samantha’s brother and sister – as well as Joe, her father. She smiled, but all she could think about was the years of abuse from all three of them. Physical, sexual, emotional, verbal – all of it had pushed her away from the family she had once knew and made her the bitter woman she was now. She still remembered the 4th of July when she was 14. She shuddered at the thought of her father drunk and touching her inappropriately. Or that Christmas when her sister got so mad at her, she threw the glass vase and shattered it, pieces of glass digging deep into Samantha’s skin. Or on her 11th birthday when she was beat for not cleaning the kitchen floor spotless – and she was locked up in her room for three straight days.

But, she kept smiling at them like none of that happened in the past.

[To be continued.]

It is very hot here – the temperature is supposed to hit 98F tomorrow. I most definitely work 8 to 4:30 every day this weekend. Great. I have to remember to bring in water for the morning so I don’t immediately dehydrate. Should be a fun weekend. Or not. Depends on the customer flow. Which should be high.

Happy Friday, all!

I closed my eyes and saw you standing in front of me, with your blue button-down shirt hanging off your shoulders and its sleeves cuffed to your elbows, exposing buff tanned lower arms. I wondered if you realized your right shoelace was untied, tucked under the sole of your shoe because you had stepped on it in the process of walking. Your jeans hung loosely on your manly figure – making you look tall and handsome in ways no one else saw but me. Your blue eyes twinkled, expressing an inner feeling that you had only shown towards me in recent days – something I had once pushed off as nothing, but soon realized that it was something and I could not take it for granted anymore. My hand wanted so badly to brush yours – to feel your rough fingers intertwine with my more delicate ones. Palm to palm, my thumb caressing that soft place between your pointer finger and your thumb – slightly sweaty from the hot sticky air.

My eyes are still closed – still focused on the dream of you that I have so clearly memorized inside my head. It is picture perfect – a moment surrounded by the most beautiful of things. The background a deep pink hue – the sun setting behind us. Orange, yellow, red spreads across the late evening sky as the moon starts to rise opposite of it. And it is you and me, alone. You suddenly ask me to dance. I comply. With the colors of the sky as our backdrop and the chirps of the birds as our music – we dance together. Chest to chest, our hands intertwined on one side of our bodies – the others resting upon each other in the appropriate, society-set places. I follow you, our feet moving in a similar pattern – my head resting upon your shoulder as my nose takes in your scent, something I have missed for so long. A mix between different musts – it is deep and rich and beautiful. My lips brush against your neck as shivers run down my spine.

Oh how this moment is one in a million, even though it often only happens in my dreams as my eyes stay closed, fluttering constantly – mimicking my heart. This is as close as I can get to you right now – in my mind. It is where the picture of you is the most clear – not tainted or different, just how I see you as you always have been. As the sun dips below the horizon, my memory of you fades slightly. You seem only to be a murmur in my mind – a blip in the timeline of my life. And it scares me. But it always comes back to me once the sun comes up each morning. The nights are so cold without you by my side. I miss you.

[Just a stream of consciousness.]

Chain Interview (Part 2)
Questions from Ashley
Directions on how this works in this post.
If you want to be interviewed, please leave a comment with “Interview me” and I will gladly do so.

1. Do you believe in the death penalty? Regardless of which way you feel, post support for the opposite viewpoint.

Personally, I am against the death penalty. I did a term paper on this subject when I was a junior in high school, and after all the research I did – it changed my opinion from for to against. But since I am required to post support for the opposite viewpoint, here you go:

On the subject of the death penalty, I am for this type of sentencing. Those who kill should be given the ultimate punishment for their crime – in an “eye for an eye” type of thing. Given enough evidence, a person who is sentenced to this type of punishment does deserve it in every way, shape, and form. If they stooped to the level of killing a person, they should get back what they committed on another human life. Taking away what they took from someone else is the only right thing to do.

[That was really hard to write.]

2. What is something embarrassing or naughty that you’d do if no one would ever find out?

This was the last question I answered because frankly, I have no idea. I was just floating around in the pool this afternoon and I was thinking about this question. Damn you Ashley for giving me a question I have to think about! Um.. I am still stuck..

I am going to go with writing erotic books under a different name

3. You have financing to visit 3 foreign countries. Which do you choose and why?

(A) Poland. Half of my nationality is Polish, and I would love to see the “homeland”. Plus, I know a girl who went there and she said she got the most beautiful dress there. Selfishly, I want one.
(B) Italy. I am also part Italian, but I just really want to go there so I can have the best Italian food ever. Plus, don’t they have good wine?
(C) Ireland. I am obsessed with going here just so I can ride on some of the best cross-country horseback riding courses in the world.

4. Is the grass greener on the other side?

Literally or figuratively? Because both of my neighbors have greener lawns than we do. But, no. Everyone thinks it is – but to your surprise, as much as I complain, I really truely do love my life. My parents supported my decision for school and my major even though it might not make me into a millionaire and I have two of the best sisters that have ever graced this Earth. Plus, I have pretty hot friends. Haha.

5. Are you a flyswatter or fly paper? (Make up your own arbritrary meanings to these terms).

Hmm, I would have to say fly paper. I seduce the people in and get to know them before killing them off. Hahaha. Ok, no really, I think of myself more as fly paper than as a flyswatter. I try to not judge right off the bat, and rather be more open to getting to know people before deciding if they are right for my life.

Creative Writing: Tell a story in the form of a love letter (rated R and under or with disclaimer please – there are younguns puttering about with their delicate wings).

Dear {X},

I miss every little thing about you. I cried the other night. For you. For what was us. For feeling this way. I heard a song, and it encompassed everything I feel right now. “So here I am – all by myself thinking of you - nobody else. There’s a feeling inside and as hard as I try, it just won’t go away.  Are you finding it hard all on your own, having to face each night alone, knowing you are the one with the love I need and I miss you more each day..“

Remember the night we met? No one else mattered, no one else mattered, just us.. we connected in that way, that way I have not found with anyone else. It was all so damn perfect — so awesome, spectacular, amazing. {Damn, I miss you.} The world stopped turning when my eyes caught your deep blue ones. And when we finally – finally – finally- finally – touched hands… that moment was beautiful. I miss that moment. Nothing was more important than you and I – you and I.

I miss those touches, and those kisses – damn, you knew the perfect spots – and it was just so innocent, and pure, and amazing. If only you knew – if you knew what really was going through my head all those nights.. the ones where you held me in your strong arms and shielded me from so much pain.

The bliss – where did it go? After that one huge fight where you walked out, or after the one where all I did was cry during it, or the one when we did not even fight – we just were both in bad moods and took it out on each other? {Damn, I even miss the disagreements – and the fact that you never fought back – that you always tried to calm me down and kiss me right in the middle of me yelling and screaming. I hated that when it was happening – but there are so many days I wish I had it back.)

You know what scares me the most, {X}? That everything might have been a lie – a lie – a lie. That the promise you made might not real, that it might not be what you said. But damn it, I miss you like I miss childhood – hardcore. I miss your smell, and your touch, and your taste. Yes, I said your taste. Of every moment I had for you, I still kept one thing to myself.

I loved you, and I still do.

Love always ,
Kate

You just – You just – You just –
You just turned my world upside down. What the hell just happened? What the HELL just happened? I think I am dreaming. Pinch me — is this real? I don’t have anything to say to express this thing I am feeling. Damn it, I have swallowed my tongue. And my brains and my heart and about everything in between and beyond that. Oh dear. Yeah. You rock hardcore. Like seriously, you R-O-C-K.

What would I do without you?

Chain Interview

Instructions:
1. Leave me a comment saying, ‘Interview me.’
2. I will respond by asking you five questions. I get to pick the questions. (Muhaha.)
3. Only respond if you are willing to answer any question that is asked of you (playing by michaelsean rules where total honesty is required).
4. Update your Xanga with the answers to the questions.
5. Include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
6. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

My Interview (as asked by Sarahndipidee):

1. Have you ever done anything that’s brought shame to the sanctity of sisterhood?

The only thing I can really think of is telling secrets I shouldn’t have. I’ll admit to being a big mouth sometimes – I often don’t make the right judgment calls when it comes to someone telling me something. I am very good about keeping secrets, especially ones that are not about the person harming themselves, but sometimes I forget. But besides that, I can’t think of anything in particular. I really am a good girl at heart.

2. How are you going to uphold what you’ve written in this post?

How am I going to keep my promise? Which one? I made many. I guess I just want to make sure that I realize what life is all about – that ups and downs are part of it – but dwelling on the negative side is going to get me nowhere. And then there was the promise of giving back to those less fortunate. A dream of mine – something I have always tried to do. In the past, I have built many a house for Habitat for Humanity with Angela. I have raised money for Make-A-Wish with my sorority. I hope one day to go into the Peace Corps – to help those who don’t have much of anything. A dream of mine has always been to be a teacher to those who don’t have one. I just want to give back to those who haven’t been so fortunate to come across money and the luck that sometimes I believe I have.

3. How do you defend God when someone asks “How can he be so cruel?”

There are two ways to view God – as a loving and caring being, or as a cruel and heartless one. I, for one, believe in the former. I honestly also think that we are destined to our fates – that we will be lead in the right direction by Him. People are very quick to blame God for what is wrong in their lives – that it is His fault that everything is going wrong. What they do not realize is that humans were made to have free will – that God will do His best to guide us in the right direction, but we cannot be forced to do anything against our will. There are always those people who stray away. I used to not believe in God while I was in high school. I returned to my faith starting the summer before college – and I have gone from there. It is a touchy subject – something that cannot be explained. Everyone will have their belief – and being that I only know one side of it, I cannot fully understand the other. But I honestly believe that the blame lays in the hands of the people, not in God’s. Yes, He guides us in the right direction – but He is not the one who makes the ultimate decision in our lives.

4. What do you hate most about people?

I absolutely loathe selfishness. I hate when people are only out to get what they want – to never think about other people in the world. It drives me buggy, seeing people make tons of money that they may very well deserve and not using it to benefit the world, but rather spend it on pointless objects such as huge television sets and expensive cars that guzzle gas and shoes, clothes, accessories that they will only use or wear once, maybe twice. I think a huge part of our human race needs to understand that taking care of each other is important. I think that much of genuine care and generoisty has flown out the window in the past decade or so – and it saddens me.

5. Do you consider yourself racist? Honestly?

Absolutely, positively not. I am the one person that I know who is definitely not racist by all means. I am completely turned off and upset by people who are racist in any way, shape, or form. I never utter mean comments or slurs about anyone – no matter where they came from, their accent, their looks, etc. People are people, to me, and everyone deserves a fair chance in this world – no matter the color of their skin, their ethnicity, or their first language.

Have you ever had an experience so amazing it changed your life for the better?
I did.
This weekend.

The seminar was absolutely wonderful. Being there and actually seeing patients, hearing their stories and struggles and conquests, realizing that you do in fact make a difference – even the smallest – in a child’s life because of a few letters you wrote.. makes you understand how precious life is. I met a mother who’s daughter is six years old and dying from a malignant brain tumor. Right now, St. Jude’s is just prolonging her life. It is amazing how that place, which you might think everyone will be sad, isn’t.

I learned so much.
I now don’t take my life for granted as much as I used to, knowing that at any second I can be taken off this earth – at God’s will.
I now say I love you to the people that I do, and mean it.
I now keep in mind that being myself is much more important than hiding behind the shadows of my insecurities and faults.
I promised myself that I won’t hold back anymore – that giving my all – fighting for what I believe in – being the person I should be – is the right thing to do. It is the best thing to do.
I guarantee that living a life to the fullest each day is much better than not doing a damn thing.
And that taking risks and chances are so much more worth it.
I have opened my eyes to how life should be lived – without fear and qualms. It should be happy and fun and non-judgmental.
There is never a reason not to smile. And no reason to ever dwell in the past.
I made a solemn swear to myself to give to all those less fortunate. A promise I will keep.

Having this life is a priviledge, not a guarantee. And I thank God every day that he lets me keep on living. I believe that I have something great to give this world – even if it’s a small thing – it will still be great.

Kate