Setting The World On Fire

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"...standing on a milk crate, running a cash register at eight years old, spoke volumes about you. It said that you would not be content to settle for anything less than excellence. Everytime I look at you, I am reminded of that. That spoke volumes about your determination and grit. It fortold of all in life you would demand. And it was then I knew, you, my little girl, would set the world on fire."

Without a doubt, that is my father's favorite story about me. He tells it to everyone. My dates, my employers, my friends, my enemies. Everyone. When he tells this story, his face lights up with delight as he remembers his youngest daughter demonstrating the sober determination to prove the skeptics who told her she was too young to do it.

No matter how discouraged or disillusioned I get with life, no matter how much I belittle myself or threaten to drink vodka and slit my wrists, my father repeats this story to me. And every time he tells it to me, it makes me smile and try a little harder.

This man has believed in this little girl long before she stood on a milk crate. He envisioned sucess for me when he gave me the name which means "Promised Child of God". He prayed for me when I tried to starve and vomit my way to self-acceptance. He never cursed my stubborn ways or insolent actions, he only saw the potential in me.

It's times like these, when it's rough, when I'm discouraged and when I want to quit. When tears are dripping off my chin and I just want a life of mediocrity. Dad, I will always remember you and your words. And I will know that I can set the world on fire.

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This odd narrative is my life. I ended up in Pittsburgh, of all places--from the beach. I have no hobbies, other than cooking excessively and eating microwave popcorn. I enjoy shopping, the Food network, hiding the remote so the Food network cannot be turned off, find ethnic food stores and restaurants and reading voraciously. My life is decidedly pedestrian.

I worked in the car business where I was required to be ruthless and soul-less wench, which is when I started this project. Since then, I've kept it up because secretly, I've always wanted to join the military. Every male in my mother's family has joined and I quietly entertain thoughts of joining. I haven't yet and don't know if I ever will, but sending the troops cookies keeps me sane. it makes me think I still have a shred of human kindness left in my withering soul. it's a small way for me to salute the men and women who are brave enough to fight for freedom. And makes me feel like I'm contributing toward troop morale--even if I'm not. So if you want to help, send me addresses of troops you know stationed overseas. you may also contribute toward the cost of chocolate chips, but don't feel obligated, that link is here only by request.

the past


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