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	<title>WIRL Project &#187; Kassidy Everard</title>
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	<link>http://www.wirlproject.com</link>
	<description>What It&#039;s Really Like.</description>
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		<title>I Miss You Today</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/i-miss-you-today/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/i-miss-you-today/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 27 Aug 2015 08:00:21 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Kassidy Everard]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Entertainment]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Love/Relationships]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Goodbye]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Grieve]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Miss you]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[See You Again]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Today]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Tomorrow]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[WIRL]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=8505</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[I woke up with a frown on my face. Looked out the window, saw the rain, and questioned what reasoning I had to get out of bed. I sluggishly put on my t-shirt and faded blue jeans. Not caring about what I looked like, I paired my outfit with some broken sandals tied together by a thin black string. I wondered what might be so different about the day when so far, everything was as somber as usual on a Monday morning. I went downstairs to get something to eat. I opened the fridge twice, maybe three times then shut it empty handed. I moved over to the cabinet. Opening it twice, maybe three times before closing it &#8211; again empty handed&#8230; I suddenly lost my appetite. I sat on the couch as thoughts of you ran through my head. Tears fell from my eyes as a memory of you passed through. But it&#8217;s never just one tear. They come in waves, and some days I drown in them. The world looks different without you here, almost as if the sun doesn&#8217;t shine as bright, but the moon shines  brighter. There is more light in my darkest days because I can close my eyes and remember you. But the light in my brighter days seems dull, because I no longer share this light with you. I go through my day like I normally would when you we&#8217;re here, but the memories creep into my head and stick like molasses- distracting me from making any progress. And I tell myself I need you, as if you&#8217;re not around anymore.  As if you disappeared off the face of the earth. As If I will never see you again. But I will see you again. And even though the thought of seeing you again seems like a fantasy played over and over in my head time after time I believe it&#8217;s true. I try to let go of the pain, but your absence makes it harder to tell myself that you&#8217;re okay. Instead of letting my pain go, I hold on to it like a leech on my back. This pain, sucking the blood out of my veins, turning me cold. I set aside my own life to grieve but grieving has started to become my life. The very day I noticed I greive 90% of my day and have a half-hearted smile the other 10% is the day I put an end to the pain of your absence. I realized that holding onto this pain will not help me get through anything and that focusing on the good times we had together will help me face the reality that there is nothing I can do to bring you back. I never got to say a proper goodbye to all of you&#8230;. I wasn&#8217;t there for any of it. But as time goes on I see that it isn&#8217;t goodbye that I have to say. It&#8217;s &#8220;I&#8217;ll see yas later.&#8221; &#160; Aunt Tina, Uncle Tink, Aunt Terina,  Aunt Karen, Grandpa Platt, and Andrew, my love has not ended for you. My love has only gotten stronger. And as I lay my head on my pillow tonight, I smile for all the things I did and all the things I will do in your honor each day I live. I may not ever hold your hand again or hear your voice, but inside my heart none of you are dead. You&#8217;re all fully alive and when I am the same amount of alive as you are  I will see you again. I missed you today, but not in the same ways that I will miss you tomorrow.]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>There&#8217;s No Place Like Home</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/theres-no-place-like-home/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/theres-no-place-like-home/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 20 Aug 2015 09:00:44 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Kassidy Everard]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Love/Relationships]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Home]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[love]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[New York]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[No Place Like Home]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[North Carolina]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[travel]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=8241</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[As my time to leave New York quickly approaches, I prepare for the tears and overwhelming emotions that I know are about to take control of my mind and flow silently into my heart. Each year I am blessed to have a family who supports me in most of my decisions, who encourages me to be successful, and who loves me unconditionally. There are truly some people I could never go without thanking enough for giving me a path to follow that is all mine. Being in New York with my family is an entirely different experience every year. I go different places, I see new things, and most of all I appreciate what I have around me more. I spend time with those I love, who I know love me just the same. I build a new foundation every summer. A new place to call home. But at the end of every summer my &#8220;home&#8221; is broken down, as I am sent back dragging myself along to North Carolina. Although NC is where I have been raised since I was 7 months old, I can&#8217;t help but think that it&#8217;ll never be my home. The constant downpour of love and support comes from a very few bunch of people, but it&#8217;s those people that allow me to grow as a person without worry or struggle. It&#8217;s the time I spend here that shows me what makes a house into a home. Money doesn&#8217;t matter. If someone is struggling, you probably won&#8217;t ever know. Family is family, and they help when and if they can. The beautiful scenery and the fresh air remind me all too well of a place I&#8217;ve made up in my head called home. For a foundation like this I owe thanks to my mother. Had it not been for her moving me away from NY I wouldn&#8217;t have a foundation this solid in this beautiful state. Instead it would&#8217;ve been like everyone else here that see each other day in and day out. Eventually I would get in a routine and that routine would turn into a habit and that habit would eventually grow old. NC is a habit that has grown old. Somewhat of a disease I can&#8217;t get rid of. Had I grown up in NY, I would see a whole different disease right at my finger tips&#8230;. the addiction of a warm heart. Never once have I experienced multiple people excited to see me and welcome me into their home&#8230; not worried and unquestioning about anything in my past. In any family there are ones who try to bring you down, but the ones that lift me up are irreplaceable and rarely found. If this wasn&#8217;t home to me and this wasn&#8217;t my Utopia, then I&#8217;d probably never visit at all. NY may not be London,  Paris,  Mexico, Brazil, or Italy, but it doesn&#8217;t have to be big and fancy to make me feel like this is where I belong. Leaving a select few in this family is one of the hardest, most heart breaking things I face each year. In the few days before I leave I wake up hoping time stood still throughout the night just to make my time last longer. The biggest problem with all of this is that this isn&#8217;t where I will end up. The even bigger problem is that this isn&#8217;t where I&#8217;ll have my children grow up and as cheesey as it may sound, I have followed the yellow brick road each year and it has never failed to lead me home. A piece of my heart is left behind but that piece is meant to stay. This is my home&#8230;.. and sadly I let myself leave each year, telling myself I&#8217;ll be fine without it all&#8230;. but I never am. I wait all year for this&#8230;..  and my heart is split in places my arms just cannot stretch. So as I say goodbye to my life in NY, I remember that good things can&#8217;t all come at once&#8230;.. and that one day, the place I am meant to be will drag me to it. And if the tears don&#8217;t flow when I leave, I know I haven&#8217;t left a piece of my heart, letting me know it isn&#8217;t home&#8230;. &#38; that I need a new place to start. After all, there is no place like home.]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>This I Believe</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/this-i-believe/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/this-i-believe/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 25 Jun 2015 18:00:57 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Kassidy Everard]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Entertainment]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Believe]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Cancer]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[cry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Death]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Die]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Sad]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Words]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=7188</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[&#8220;I believe that taking your last breath does not mean you are dead. I believe that you die twice; once when you take your last breath, and again when someone whispers your name for the last time.&#8221; &#8211; Banksy When I was 9 years old, my aunt died of cancer. I remember getting the call from my father telling me that she had passed in the night with him by her side. He watched her pass, he watched her take her last breath, and he heard her last words. &#8220;She was turning purple, getting pale in the face, she was dying,&#8221; My dad said. My father had lost his sister that day and I had lost an amazing aunt. I remember visiting her like it was yesterday. She loved to talk. She loved her husband, and she loved her kids. But two years after she died, her husband got cancer. My uncle went blind, he got sicker and sicker. He left a granddaughter behind, two daughters, and three sons. But Aunt Tina did not know. She did not know that her husband would soon be gone, too. Through her chemotherapy there were times when she wished she would die. Her hair was all gone, she lost more than half her original body weight, her cheeks were so sunken in to her face that it looked like she hadn&#8217;t eaten for weeks, and she could hardly walk. Recognizing people close to her even became a struggle. Sadly, sometimes I wished she would go, just so she wouldn&#8217;t feel the pain anymore. Even though it had been a year since I had seen her last, I knew she couldn&#8217;t have looked any better. I knew she was worse, and that the pain was killing her more than the cancer was. I wanted her better, but I knew she wouldn&#8217;t be. After all, it would have been selfish of me to force her through more treatment. I did not go to her funeral. I did not see her die. I wasn&#8217;t allowed to go. My father told me that I wouldn&#8217;t have wanted to go, that I wouldn&#8217;t have wanted to see a dead person. Instead I cried, like anyone would with such a loss. I was nine, and even though I was still a child, I understood. I knew where she had gone. She is where we all end up some day. Maybe that place is called heaven, maybe it isn&#8217;t. But she is in a better place now, where all the pain is gone. She is where we all end up someday. She is also in my heart. She is where she belongs; everywhere and nowhere at once. Aunt Tina is not dead. Uncle Tink is not dead. They are both soft whispers in the mouths of many. Their names have not been said for the last time. They are not dead. This I believe. This I will always believe.]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>An Old Man in a Music Video Once Said&#8230;</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/an-old-man-in-a-music-video-once-said/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/an-old-man-in-a-music-video-once-said/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 22 Jun 2015 18:00:55 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Kassidy Everard]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Love/Relationships]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Brother]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Craig Morgan]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[cry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Deep]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Died]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[happiness]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Loss]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[love]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Memories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Money]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Old Man]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[respect]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[This Ain't Nothing]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Trust]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Twister]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Value]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Vietnam]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Wife]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=7101</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[This afternoon I was listening to music on YouTube for the first time in a while. I usually have my music on my phone, that way I can listen to it on the go. I didn&#8217;t realize how much I missed watching videos on YouTube until I stumbled across Craig Morgan&#8217;s &#8220;This Ain&#8217;t Nothing&#8221; music video. I remember listening to this song when I was younger when it came on the radio. I don&#8217;t even think I liked it when I was that young, because I didn&#8217;t put the deeper meaning with it. In fact, I didn&#8217;t truly put the deeper meaning in it until last year, the most recent time I heard it before today. I feel like Craig Morgan has a lot going for him. He is a respectable person, he is a talented musician, and he manages to stay away from the drama of what seems to be the life of being famous. Not only that, but he is also a pretty good-looking man. With that being said, I think we can all agree than I&#8217;ve made you wait long enough to see what old man I am talking about. In the music video, Craig sings about a reporter who interviews an elderly man after a twister passes through Birmingham where he lives. The twister destroyed his home and everything in it. The reporter asks the man: Tell the folks please mister, what are you gonna do, now that this twister has taken all that&#8217;s dear to you? But the reporter got an answer that he never expected&#8230; The old man just smiled and said, Boy let me tell you something, this ain&#8217;t nothing&#8230; This old man, you know, seems pretty tough. He didn&#8217;t cry like the audience would have thought. He didn&#8217;t ignore the question like some would have thought. He just answered honestly, in his purest form. Most of us would cry, knowing that we just lost everything we have ever worked for. Knowing that every single penny we put into building a foundation is now gone. But some people always decide to see the good in every single situation that is horrific. The old man explains why he thinks that the twister that hit his house is nothing. He said: I lost my daddy, when I was eight years old, That cave-in at the Kincaid mine left a big old hole, And I lost my baby brother, my best friend and my left hand In a no win situation in a place called Vietnam And last year I watched my loving wife, of fifty years waste away and die And I held her hand til her heart of gold stopped pumping, So this ain&#8217;t nothing. This old man lost just about everything he had. His wife, his brother, his dad, his left hand, and his best friend. Little do we realize that when we lose even one person in our life we think that it is the end of the world. Losing anyone, no matter what way, has a toll on our minds forever. This old man stuck through everything and kept going. Even the hardest things to deal with didn&#8217;t keep him from living his life even if there wasn&#8217;t much of it left to live or wasn&#8217;t anyone else to live for. But why would you need someone to live for? Why did living for yourself and your own benefit become almost unrealistic? Toward the end of the song is when I started to tear up. Not because I realized what was said in the beginning of the song, but because I realized how much truth was in the words that this man was saying. This man was on his own because everyone he had in his life had died. As did his wife, just the year before. When he looked down on the ground, He reached down in the rubble and picked up a photograph Wiped the dirt off of it with the hand that he still had He put it to his lips and said man she was something But this ain&#8217;t nothing This man, he knew. He knew what it was like to want for something that he couldn&#8217;t have. He knew how it was to have a love that money couldn&#8217;t buy. This man saw the difference between something that truly mattered and something that really didn&#8217;t. The old man&#8217;s last words in the song are what truly got to me. He said, This ain&#8217;t nothin&#8217; time won&#8217;t erase And this ain&#8217;t nothin&#8217; money can&#8217;t replace Money. We all think money is what runs the world. As that is true, there are many things that money cannot buy &#8211; here are a few&#8230; 1. Love 2. Happiness 3. Respect 4. Trust 5. Value 6. Memories 7. Life So that should leave you with the thought, &#8220;Well, what can money buy?&#8221; Money can buy almost everything that isn&#8217;t a necessary tool for healthy relationships or a healthy life. This man knows what the genuine value of something is. He knows that it will just take money to bring back his house, but that no amount of money in the world will bring back his wife or his brother or his father and his best friend. Money never brought this man happiness. And little by little his happiness was taken away from him throughout life. Not by things money could buy, but by things it couldn&#8217;t. It is sad to believe that we rely on money to control any part of our happiness. How about we try to think like this man for a day in our lives. Oh, what difference it would make! &#160;]]></description>
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		</item>
		<item>
		<title>They Aren&#8217;t JUST Shoes</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/they-arent-just-shoes/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/they-arent-just-shoes/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 18 Jun 2015 20:45:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Kassidy Everard]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Love/Relationships]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Accomplished]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Attitude]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Beautiful]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Boots]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Change]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Complex]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Different]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Feet]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[interesting]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Mood]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Naked]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Run]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Sandals]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Sassy]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Shoes]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Sneakers]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=6994</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[A pair of shoes can change the world. Some in different ways. Running shoes can win gold. Sandals can transport memories from a favorite destination. Boots can bring out the sass in anyone. Heels can help kick someone&#8217;s ass when the guy at the bar just wont leave you alone. But maybe there is a deeper meaning for what shoes we decide to wear. When I wear heels I feel beautiful. Matched with the right outfit I feel sassy and beautiful all in one. Some people feel sassy and beautiful in a simple pair of sneakers. Whoever said give a girl the right shoes and she will conquer the world was beyond right. If I&#8217;m feeling down, I go shoe shopping.  Not because I&#8217;m a materialistic person, but because somehow buying shoes makes me feel like I get a fresh start. Buying shoes shows me that there is a way to make myself feel beautiful while also making me feel accomplished. Shoes aren&#8217;t just shoes like most people tend to believe. The type of shoe I wear can determine my attitude for the rest of the day. Heels always make me want to go out &#38; dance. They make my heart ache for that perfect dinner with my significant other. Sitting and talking, still getting to know each other. Sometimes they make me want to get up and meet new people, possibly even become more of a social person. Wearing no shoes at all&#8230;you see, this is where the fun comes. This is where It&#8217;s hard for me&#8230; Lately, wearing shoes has been the way to express my feelings. I always wear heels when I am feeling down (and when I am not) where most would choose sneakers or sandals. But I feel that the better I dress, the better I will feel. I cannot even bring myself to wear sneakers to school. Not because I care about the opinions of those around me, but because I honestly feel that the heels I wear make people look at me differently &#8211; more passionately. Like they are actually interested in what I have to say. But when did wearing shoes become such a big deal? The Naked Foot&#8230; Ah, yes. The majestic, adventurous feeling of not wearing shoes. Disgusting? Maybe&#8230; But lets be honest&#8230; you hate wearing shoes just as much as the next person. When I do not have shoes on I feel naked. I feel like a piece of me is exposed that shouldn&#8217;t be. Not wearing shoes is the equivalent to not wearing a shirt for me. My shoes say a lot about who I am &#38; when that right is taken away from me, I feel stripped of any barrier I have put up that says who I am. Not wearing shoes is a guessing game of who I am meant to be. If i wear sneakers, you&#8217;ll expect that I am a runner. If I wear sandals, you&#8217;ll assume I like the beach. If I wear boots, you&#8217;ll assume that I am a southern girl. Well, what if I don&#8217;t wear any shoes at all? You now have no way of knowing about my interests. No way of knowing if I am an under-dresser or an over-dresser. No way of knowing if I enjoy the beach or hiking. No way of knowing anything at all. Because without my shoes on I am naked. But that isn&#8217;t me. I am not a naked soul. My soul is filled with vibrant, exciting, colorful adventures and experiences, My soul is filled with good things and bad things, good people and bad people, good feelings and bad feelings. So asking me what my favorite shoe is probably isn&#8217;t a tricky question because I am complex. I am interesting. I am different. And I know what I want. I am headstrong, but I am also timid. I am stern, but I am also calm. I am lovable, but I am also hated. I am strong, but I am also weak. To me, wearing heels says, &#8220;I am independent, I don&#8217;t need help, I am strong.&#8221; They aren&#8217;t just shoes. They are a symbol of who I am as a person. A symbol of what I can do and what I cannot do. Heels, be simple and sophisticated, are the shoes that represent me as a person. They cover my naked soul, with just enough &#8216;click&#8217; to keep the mystery going. They aren&#8217;t just shoes. Not to me, anyway.]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>I Couldn&#8217;t Do That to My Kids</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/i-couldnt-do-that-to-my-kids/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/i-couldnt-do-that-to-my-kids/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 28 May 2015 09:00:10 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Kassidy Everard]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Child]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Classes]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[High School]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Hold Back]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Math]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[passion]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Pressure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[School]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Science]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Sophomore]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[student]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Success]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[teacher]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=6482</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Lately I have been extremely stressed out with school. Believe it or not, being a Sophomore is the hardest year in High-school. There are huge obstacles to overcome, an abundant amount of new material to learn and there is a whole new perspective on school. I have never been an A+ student. School has always come very hard for me. Not school all around, but specifically math and science related courses. I have had more tears than moments of happiness this school year. Math, no matter how hard, has the power to make every bone in my body tremble. The blood in my body boils when I realize I have to do math. I have had more tears than moments of happiness this school year. As finals quickly approach, I started to think about what it is that I have learned that I will genuinely need in life. I am not one of those students that considers everything busy-work or that considers everything insignificant. BUT when there are equations I will actually never need in life, other than to become a math teacher, I start to question why we even learn it to begin with. I look back on my year and see nothing but trial and error. None of my efforts in math have paid off. Then again, what did I expect? They never have. I am constantly faced with the decision of either trying my absolute hardest just to pass one class and walk away with absolutely nothing learned, or giving it a fair amount of effort and expecting amazing results. I am continually stressed out over my head with math. I am easily angered when I cannot figure a math problem out. All in all, math is what is holding me back in life. I considered being a Child Psychologist, but math made me hate school. So, seven years doesn&#8217;t appeal to me. I considered being a Teacher, but math made me hate learning. So, four years didn&#8217;t appeal to me. When did I consider just being human? Have any of us ever considered just being human? I have my strong points in school. Writing being one of them. I would love to be a writer. But what I will accomplish or will not accomplish shouldn&#8217;t have any effect on how I decide to live my life. Is math really the only thing holding me back? Sadly, it is. As I think about everything I just typed, I think about my future. I think about my children. I would never want my child to tell me that they couldn&#8217;t be anything that they wanted to be in life because of one class. I would never want my child to tell me that what he/she is learning in school is &#8220;too hard,&#8221; or &#8220;cannot be understood&#8221;. I wouldn&#8217;t want my child to cry over a simple math problem because deep down it isn&#8217;t the math making him upset. Deep down it&#8217;s the thought of not accomplishing extraordinary things that destroys his/her mind. I wouldn&#8217;t want my child to cry over a simple math problem because deep down it isn&#8217;t the math making him upset. Deep down it&#8217;s the thought of not accomplishing extraordinary things that destroys his/her mind. I see how corrupt our schools are. How much empty knowledge children are forced to learn. How many things that are taught, but never really used. Are we filling gaps? Or is it that we just don&#8217;t know what else to teach? I have yet to see math needed beyond what a calculator can do.  And it will only get harder. My parents stopped helping me with homework in the fifth grade. By the sixth, they were both able to tell me that the math I was learning was taught to them as sophomores or juniors in High school. Isn&#8217;t it funny how my parents don&#8217;t know the math I was taught in sixth grade? They&#8217;ve never used it. When will I? When I have kids, I think I will have to home-school them. Or maybe move to a commune. How could I put that much stress on my child? How could I tell my child that I cannot help them because I have never learned what they are learning? How would I be able to watch my child cry over a simple math problem? When will society realize that dreams are killed through putting pressure on a child to be something more than they possibly can be? I wouldn&#8217;t be able to hear my child tell me that they aren&#8217;t capable enough. I wouldn&#8217;t be able to expose my child to a corrupt educating system. I wouldn&#8217;t be able to tell my child that they needed to try a little harder than their best because their best just wasn&#8217;t enough. I wouldn&#8217;t want to be that parent that was responsible for telling my child that they needed to dream a new dream. No matter what job, passion is what makes success. An unsuccessful education is no education at all. If you are passionate enough about what you do, then you will succeed in your career. One does not need knowledge to know what brings happiness to life. One does not need a math problem to tell them that they cannot accomplish anything. I won&#8217;t be a teacher. Teachers aren&#8217;t even teachers anymore. They hate what they are forced to teach just as much as children hate learning it. And they have the pain of knowing that there are some kids that they just can&#8217;t help. But they must move on. Because just like one child cannot hold the entire class back from learning, one math problem should not hold one child back from succeeding. I couldn&#8217;t let that happen. I couldn&#8217;t do that to my kids.]]></description>
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		<title>When Flying Makes You Ask: Are You Serious?</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/when-flying-makes-you-ask-are-you-serious/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/when-flying-makes-you-ask-are-you-serious/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 18 May 2015 09:00:07 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Kassidy Everard]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Entertainment]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Airport]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Anger]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Breastfeeding]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Flying]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Frustration]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Light]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Reading]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Sleep]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=6184</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Recently I flew to Hawaii for spring break to go see my family. While on the eleven hour flight I noticed some things that made me ask, &#8220;Are you serious?&#8221;. On the flight from Charlotte to Dallas, nothing went wrong. Everything seemed fine. I assumed that the next flight would be the same way. I assumed wrong. On the flight from Dallas to Kahului, I sat horizontal from a couple from New Zealand. Now, don&#8217;t get me wrong&#8230;this couple was beyond sweet, but maybe not so aware of their surroundings. About six hours into the flight, the little boy&#8217;s mother (for the record, this boy is almost two with a full set of teeth) whips out her boob and allows the small child to latch right on. I understand that your child needs to eat, but you can at least put a cover over yourself. Better yet, you can stop breastfeeding your fully toothed baby dinosaur! Instead of buttoning her shirt back up after the child was finished, this woman fell asleep (as did her son) and therefore left her boob out for the world to see. Okay, seriously? There is no way she couldn&#8217;t feel the breeze on her boob. The worst part is that the boy&#8217;s father didn&#8217;t bother buttoning his wife&#8217;s shirt, or alerting her that her entire boob was now any mans eye-candy. Aside from the boob situation, there was another issue I clearly noticed: Too much perfume. I know you want to smell lovely, and want to smell like you poop out unicorns and daisy&#8217;s, but I can assure you that the amount of perfume you applied is extremely bothersome. You may have been going for the citrus smell, but I&#8217;ll be honest.. you smell like SHITRUS. Not a very pleasant smell if you ask me. When on a long flight, you will smell foul after the flight is over anyway, so there really isn&#8217;t a point in trying to apply enough to last you a month and suffocate everyone else in the surrounding area. You may have been going for the citrus smell, but I&#8217;ll be honest.. you smell like SHITRUS. Now, we move on to the return flight back home. Usually the shortest flight since we go back in time. We leave Kahului at 5:30 and it&#8217;s dark an hour into the flight. Peaceful for some much needed rest, but I guess others create alternative plans. In dire need for some rest, knowing I would have a full day when I would land, I personally planned ahead. I tossed and turned on the flight for three hours. But unlike some people, I was quiet and respectful of the other people getting their Z&#8217;s and counting their sheep. But not this man. The man in front of me decided to read. THE WHOLE FLIGHT. Usually I would congratulate someone who decided to spend their free time reading. But not when you, kind Sir, are the only one with your overhead light on. No, seriously&#8230;turn that nuisance off. I couldn&#8217;t understand why he didn&#8217;t sleep. I mean at least I brought coloring books with me. OH, that&#8217;s not even the worst part! After our flight landed back in Charlotte we ran into some slight difficulties. Emphasis on SLIGHT. I was already annoyed enough at how uncomfortable the flight was, and the fact that I had just left my family, had me a little more on the bitter side than usual. I will say one thing right now&#8230; LUGGAGE IS NOT THAT HARD TO PLACE CORRECTLY.  That&#8217;s right. My poor mother&#8217;s luggage got lost. I&#8217;m sorry, did I say lost? Nope. It wasn&#8217;t lost. IT WAS PUT ON THE WRONG FLIGHT. After we got off the flight we went straight to baggage claim to pick up my delicious pineapples and my mother&#8217;s bag, which was supposed to be carry-on, but she was nice enough to let them stow it under the plane. After waiting for the bag for thirty minutes, we calmly asked when our luggage would come. Instead of being told that it was placed on the wrong flight, we were told that it would &#8220;be coming soon&#8221; and &#8220;not to worry.&#8221;  So, we took our seat and waited&#8230;and waited&#8230;and waited&#8230;and waited. WHEN CAN WE STOP WAITING!?! Now two hours into standing around waiting for the bag to appear, I became irritable. I looked at my mom with fire in my eyes, and she giggled&#8230;knowing EXACTLY what I was thinking. I had hit my wits end. I was not going to wait anymore. But before I could open my blunt mouth, mom asked another woman when the bag would come. Apparently we should have known that the luggage was on the wrong flight. Oh, by golly! I WASN&#8217;T INFORMED. But thank-you for causing my blood to boil&#8230;just what I wanted&#8230; Do we have the bag yet? &#8230;NO. Another hour goes by&#8230; and I&#8217;ve had enough. I stand up to approach one of the ladies standing around and talking, clearly not doing anything and I notice my mothers&#8217; death glare out of the corner of my eye. That was my signal to walk away and shut up before I caused an even bigger problem. If you know me, you know my mouth does not shut when something needs to be said. Call me rude, blunt, bitchy, whatever you please&#8230; but there was no way I was going to sit there and watch the comical scene of two airport workers giggling and discussing nothing of importance. So, I let it out. I looked straight at my sister and opened my big mouth right up. I think I went on for a solid four minutes, only to end realizing that the two men around the corner were hysterically laughing and the grandmother a few seats away looking like she just witnessed a man rig the Bingo game. As the beautiful words spilled from my obviously unwashed mouth, my mother came strolling up to me. You better believe that I went ahead and expressed my anger to her. No matter how livid I was, she was two notches under me. After she got the joyous gift of hearing me go off, she laughed along with the others. I asked her why she wasn&#8217;t mad and why she was laughing at such an infuriating moment&#8230;  To which she replied, Kassidy, you have enough anger in you right now that I don&#8217;t have to spend my energy being mad. I took my seat, still furious about the situation. Of course I was getting odd looks, but I didn&#8217;t have one bone in my body that cared enough to feel embarrassed for what I had just done. Thirty minutes later&#8230; Here comes the luggage strolling down the frigging yellow brick road. Never have I ever been more annoyed in my life. More mad? Definitely. But that three hour window of sitting there waiting for one bag was enough time to make me think of everything that has ever made me mad that all of it came out at once. Next time you are flying and they miraculously misplace your bag for three hours, take the opportunity to blow off some steam. It won&#8217;t make the wait go by faster, but boy does it make for an interesting entourage of people to explain your anger to.]]></description>
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		<title>Why Buying a Nursing Bra Wasn&#8217;t a Total Mistake</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/why-buying-a-nursing-bra-wasnt-a-total-mistake/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/why-buying-a-nursing-bra-wasnt-a-total-mistake/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 29 Apr 2015 22:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Kassidy Everard]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Products/Shopping]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Boobs]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Bra]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Nursing Bra]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Shopping]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Underwire]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=5616</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[&#160; Why buying a nursing bra is okay. Sometime last year I was in Target shopping for the ever-so-gracious bra that I seemed to either never fill out, or never fit in. There was always something wrong with them. For example, why is the wire sticking out of the bottom?  Why is there even a wire in my bra? Who makes these? Did this person have big boobs?  I bet this person had no boobs at all. Do men like boobs? Then I stopped asking myself the exact same questions I ask every single time and started shopping.  Alright, over here there is a blue one, looks kinda cool&#8230; ohh but over here is a red one. That seems even better!  ALRIGHT!  Get it together ! &#8230;. Again, I start looking at my options. First I try a plain white one with absolutely no padding. This was probably the worst idea possible. No padding = thicker wire. Thicker wire = death to chest testicles. SO, I quickly put that one to the side and moved on to the cute little red one. It seemed modest yet fun, while having just enough support for little to no boobs. By then I asked myself another question, Why do I care about my bra looking &#8220;fun?&#8221; &#8230; I put that one down, too. One hour later, and almost twenty bras in, I found one that looked like a soft baby Lamb and as comfortable as a sheet of silk. I ran to it while my hair flipped behind me, feeling the freezing air hit my back. And thinking about how tight the bra was that I was currently in. How itchy and irritable a bad bra could make me! I picked up the bra, looked at the tag, and realized something was off&#8230;. instead of saying a size in bra terms, it said &#8220;Medium&#8221;. So I paused&#8230;. wiped my eyes, and looked at it again. BUT it still said &#8220;Medium&#8221;. Not only was the size off, but there was an odd string attached to it that clipped at the top of the bra. I wondered what in the world that could possibly be used for. It looked like a little phone slot. I undid the clip and BAM&#8230;. half of the bra was dangling by my belly button. Now clearly, being the person that I am, I thought this was the funniest thing in the world, not to mention quite awesome! Have you ever seen a bra that acted as a Transformer? &#8230; Didn&#8217;t think so! So, I decided not to try this one on. I figured that if I just bought it as a size that would look like it fit, then it probably would. I made it all the way home while talking to my mom about how I finally found one and how excited I was that I wouldn&#8217;t have to go bra shopping again for a while! On the day that I decided to wear the bra I realized that it was definitely not a normal bra&#8230; and that I was definitely right about the whole Transformer thing. This bra was actually a nursing bra! Imagine the look on my mothers face when her sixteen year-old daughter waked downstairs to tell her mother that she had just purchased a nursing bra! I was hysterical! How didn&#8217;t I notice? At that point I actually felt kind of embarrassed to be wearing the bra. After all, wouldn&#8217;t someone assume that I was nursing if I wore the bra? But it was so comfortable! Can&#8217;t I just keep it? And that is exactly what I did. I kept that maroon nursing bra, despite the fact that I am not pregnant, nor am I nursing. In fact, I have another ten years before I may become pregnant. To be honest, I kept the bra because it is the most comfortable one I have ever put on. It has absolutely no wires, so that means I don&#8217;t get a surprise stabbing throughout the day, PLUS, it even has a THICK BAND so it improves comfort automatically! If you&#8217;re ever out and about, shopping for the right bra for you, pregnant or not, nursing bras are well worth it and very comfortable. I mean hey, if the bra fits, hook it up and wear it. Or is that for shoes? (:]]></description>
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		<title>The Ultimate Question</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/the-ultimate-question/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/the-ultimate-question/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 27 Apr 2015 14:00:15 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Kassidy Everard]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=5618</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[&#160; What do you want to do in life? The ultimate question: You know how everyone asks you about your future plans as a high-school student? How they ask what you want to be and how you want to achieve it? I find it funny how they never ask you what makes you happy or what  would satisfy your heart. Some people are oblivious to the questions they ask and how much they can effect others&#8230; no matter the age. Asking a 35 year old what they want to be when they &#8220;grow up&#8221; will most likely not be the job they have at that moment. So why would you think that a 16 or 17 year old would know what they want to do for the rest of eternity? I have been asked what I wanted to be when I grow up since I can remember. Of course, when you&#8217;re little, the question is to expect a silly answer. Most kids say astronaut or princess or fireman. When I was a kid, I always said hair dresser. Even when I was little, the question seemed to have a quick and simple answer. I said what I wanted, and I believed that what I wanted was reasonable and achievable. I never wanted to be a princess, I guess I was always considered to be a realist. Up until about eighth grade, I always said that I wanted to be a cosmetologist. I thought about it as if I were applying for the job tomorrow. I considered how much I would make and how I would be able to care for a family. Recently, I took a trip to the Paul Mitchell school to tour it and get a feel of the place I would be learning from. I was instantly amazed. I thought that the school itself was very organized and it seemed to be a very efficient school. Even now I still want to be a cosmetologist! My entire future is planned around being a cosmetologist. Just recently, I started thinking about places I would work after college. I started thinking about what would happen if I somehow didn&#8217;t become what I have always said I wanted to be. I thought about being a teacher, but after six months I realized that I wouldn&#8217;t be able to deal with the chaos and the school systems anywhere in the Charlotte area. I thought about being a massage therapist, but then I realized how many hours I would have to work and how many people I would actually have to touch. Everything seems to always go back to cosmetology for me, and even though that is what I want to do with my life, because it seems to be something I would be good at, I still cannot help but feel that there is a deeper potential inside of me that could be even better than being a cosmetologist. Instead, I would want to be a writer. I am only sixteen. I don&#8217;t know where I will be ten years from now, or two minutes from now, but I do know that if I waste my time thinking of what I could do rather than acting upon what I truly want to do, then I could waste a whole lifetime. You aren&#8217;t supposed to have your life figured out at sixteen, or even thirty-six. Life is full of surprises and some surprises could ruin every goal you&#8217;ve ever had, while others could ruin every possibility of fulfilling your dreams. If there is something you want to do in life, no matter what age, you cannot hold yourself back from doing it. How many people can say that the job they have now is their dream job? It is never to old to dream a new dream and start a new chapter in your life that is completely different from the last chapter. When the next person asks you what you want to do in life, no matter how old you are; tell them that it could take a lifetime for you to ever figure that out. Sometimes the questions are simple, but the answers are unfathomable. Follow you own dream, and don&#8217;t get lost on this roller coaster we call life.]]></description>
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		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Red Is My Favorite Color&#8230; But Not On My Skin</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/red-is-my-favorite-color-but-not-on-my-skin/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/red-is-my-favorite-color-but-not-on-my-skin/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 16 Apr 2015 09:00:15 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Kassidy Everard]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Health/Fitness]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Style/Beauty]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Beautiful]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Birthmarks]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Blemishes]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Break Out]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Freckles]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Hives]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[My Skin Won't Stop Me]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Photoshop]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Red]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Red Bumps]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Scars]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Sensitive]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Sensitive Skin]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Skin]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=5347</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[&#160; My blemishes are only skin deep. My skin won&#8217;t stop me because&#8230;. I hate it, but It&#8217;s mine. It&#8217;s the only one I&#8217;ll ever have. I have extremely sensitive skin. My hair touches my neck, and I break out in blotchy red spots. Wearing a necklace?  Blotchy red spots. Give someone a hug? You guessed it! Blotchy red spots! Recently I went to Hawaii to see family. While there I got sun poisoning, but couldn&#8217;t really feel it&#8230; all I saw were little red bumps.  Then I got devastating news which led to stress, and I broke out in hives. My arms, my neck, and my chest were covered in big red circles for two days. I felt like less of myself. I felt that the marks on my skin defined who I was&#8230; but then I thought about people with worse skin problems than me. I realized that if I don&#8217;t look at myself any different,  why should I expect someone else to look at me different just because of huge red bumps? I have always has sensitive skin, and most of you will think that having sensitive skin doesn&#8217;t compare to skin diseases, but trust me, you&#8217;ll think I have a skin disorder after seeing how bad it gets. When my skin breaks out, some people decide to point it out to me as If I don&#8217;t already know. I get embarrassed and try everything to cover it up. I don&#8217;t wear turtle necks, but the second someone tells me I&#8217;m breaking out I all of a sudden feel the need to buy one and bury myself in it. Feeling comfortable in your own skin is one of the hardest things to do, especially when you have blemishes or huge red marks, maybe even birthmarks that you consider too big. The truth is that no one has perfect skin. Nope&#8230; no one.  Every single girl you see on the cover of a magazine is the result of Photoshop. The girl in the magazine doesn&#8217;t even look like the girl in the magazine.  So why strive to be her? The more chemicals you put on your face, the worse it will get&#8230; I&#8217;ve tried acne medicine and blemish removers and almost every product known to man, and with my sensitive skin, it makes me break out. I have used baby oil and baby lotion. I have tried natural substances from the ground, such as the very dirt we walk on. I have tried the strongest stuff you can think of, and whether the bottle says that it is for sensitive skin or not, I still end up with a huge pimple the next morning&#8230;.so, I stopped using these products. Recently I decided that my skin is my skin for a reason. If I were meant to be more tan, I would be. If I were meant to be blonde, I would be. If I were meant to have blue eyes, I would. If I were meant to have no freckles, I would. BUT that isn&#8217;t me and I am content with knowing that I have scars and blemishes. That I do break out on contact with anything.  That I don&#8217;t have a hickey on my neck&#8230; It&#8217;s actually another blemish.  (Thanks for your concern, Mom) Your skin is yours for a reason. To do such a thing as to wish you had a different set of skin is unreasonable. There is a difference between feeling uncomfortable in your own skin and someone making you feel that uncomfortable in your own skin. Your skin doesn&#8217;t define the kind of person you are. It just protects the heart you have on the inside and accepts the external damage. I know in the beginning I said that I hated my skin, but I don&#8217;t hate it. I hate the way I look at it. And unless you think your skin is beautiful, you should too. &#160;]]></description>
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