Personal Narrative: Do You Wear Interventions

My personal Artifact is a baseball my son and I caught at the Giants game. It is white, round, has red stitches, and is smooth when new, but when we caught it it was beat up and the blue writing on it was smeared. A baseball is small and light in size. It can be thrown at speeds up to 100 MPH, or hit at at speeds higher than 100MPH, so when playing the game or watching you should be paying attention at all times. A baseball is made of a rubber or cork center, wrapped in yarn very tight, covered by white leather with red stitching around the out side, making it a very hard ball.

The Pad is a burger place in north Topeka. The Pad has been in the same place for the last forty or so years. It is a medium sized building with its sign out front being a rocket ready to launch. Most days The Pad is not that crowded, but always has a good amount of people there. Many families have been going to The Pad for generations.

Looking back I stared at my blank paper struggling to grasp the concept of a lesson. I knew well enough I needed to speak up sooner or later in school. Once I entered a whole new school I had to change. It was an easy ride the whole way until now. Breezing through class has always been in my mindset.

This psychological assignment requires us to break a social norm. In my case, I decided to break an appearance social norm. I thought in something weird, but at the same time really funny. Therefore, I entered to my little walking closet and I took the most brilliant and extravagant high heels shoes that I found to wear them at a place when people usually used flip flops.

It happened on June 11, 2015. My lacrosse team won our regional quarter final game the previous day—I scored my personal best of five goals and was named Player of the Game. As a reward for the win, my coach gave us a three hour practice the next day that was strictly conditioning—leaving the seniors 30 minutes to go home, shower, change, and drive to our Senior Dinner at Bowdoin College. I raced home from practice, my sweat sticking to the car leather seats, music blasting, and the wind in my hair. I had the future on my mind: playoffs, graduation, summer, and college.

On September 8, 2008 I arrived to the hospital at six o 'clock in the morning to get induced to have my first daughter due to a blood clot I had in my leg. The nurses first told me to change into a gown. Shortly after they hooked me up to the monitors to hear the baby moving all around. Also to track her cute little heartbeat. Another one was to monitor my contraction and watch them on the screen.

Andrew, my older brother, in middle of the road he was tired to keep ride the ox for 1 month. He asked me to replace him, so he can get some sleep. But then I do not have any experience of riding ox, that cause our wagon go wrong trail. The sky was dark like almost rain, I was panic. Everyone was in poor health because digest least food.

Hi, my name’s Donovan. I’m 17 years old and graduated this year with honors. I was raised with Christian values in mind, and attended a Methodist school. I was raised in the Christian faith yet I find myself, as with some of my friends who were raised in the same conditions, we seem to be growing farther away from our upbringing as we age. I find myself simply not understanding as time goes by, a complete polar opposite from the song ‘Farther Along’.

Everyone as a kid has something that offers them security, for most kids it's a blanket, a binki (pacifier), or a bear but for me, I felt most safe with a headband on top of my head. As a kid i had over a hundred headbands ranging in various sizes and colors. When I was little I was known for my headbands, you can ask anyone who went to saint james they would tell you that I wore a different one everyday. There was one teacher who would always tell me my headbands were my, “crowns”and she was right, they made me who i am. To me, headbands were more than just a casual accessory, it sounds dumb but they were the one area where i could express myself and still stay within the dresscode of my catholic school.

Goal Number One I didn’t know it yet, but the way I viewed the game of lacrosse was about to change drastically. It was a normal day for me. I was in eighth grade, and I was getting ready for school.

I have had tough hope once, I had to move to a different state and start to get used to the new place. Moving was hard and took a long time to move everything to our new house. My new house was hard to get used to because it was different and I wasn 't used to it which made it hard to sleep and I had to leave my friends behind and I would have to find new friends. Making new friends was hard because I would be alone until I found new friends and I would have no one to talk to so I would be very quiet. Usually I would always be talking to a friend and I am only social with friends.

In the beginning of 2001 I was a SGT in the 82nd Airborne Division, by January 2002 I was standing in front of the Battalion Commander’s desk being read my second Field Grade Article 15 in seventy days. I was being demoted to Private First Class, being sent to Correctional Custody in Camp Lejeune, South Carolina for thirty days and being moved to a new company when I returned. The first field grade was for disobeying a lawful order from three senior NCO’s, the Brigade CSM, Battalion CSM, and my Platoon Sergeant. They had all told me in the same day at separate times to get a haircut and I failed too, the second was for stealing from the company supply room while on extra duty from the first field grade.

“I wanted to be an independent woman, a woman who could pay for her bills, a woman who could run her own life - and I became that woman. ”- Diane von Furstenberg. Ever since I can remember I have been different than most kids my age. When most kids wanted to be playing with dolls, I wanted to be sitting with the adults conversing and learning.

INTRODUCTION Keratoconjunctivitis sicca commonly known as dry eye disease is defined as a multifactor disease that affect the tears and surface of the eye which yields to discomfort, disturbances in vision and unstable tear film that causes tremendous damage to the surface of the eye, followed by increment in the osmolarity of the tear film and inflammation on the ocular structures involved [1]. Physiologically the tear film is made up of a lipid, aqueous and mucin layer. The lipid layer is produced by meibomian and other glands; aqueous layer is secreted by lacrimal gland, accessory gland, conjunctival and corneal epithelium; and mucin layer is produced by the goblet cells of the conjunctiva. These structures are the main targets for dry-eye

Out of every wicked, awful thing about the zombie apocalypse, running out of contacts has proven the most dangerous. Every week rotting, undead corpses that smell like an upside down cemetery try to bash in my brains and gorge themselves upon the fatty, pink tissue inside my skull. My food rations now consist of freeze dried jerky, which I raided from a nearby astronaut training camp, and squirrel. Mosquitoes swarm my camp and feast upon my blood so often that I look like a chicken pox victim. And although all of those scenarios make my life a constant inferno of frustration and impending death, running out of my prescription contacts makes all of my other tribulations seem like paradise.