I've only been to Phoenix once in my life. It was in the middle of July a few years ago. Temperature was 99 degrees, which in Phoenix is practically a winter blizzard. Before I got off the plane, I fully expected it to be 110 or even 120 degrees. I would have dropped dead from heat exhaustion if that had been the case. I bloody HATE hot weather. (I was there for a Diamondbacks game, BTW. Thank God for enclosed roofs...)
I was doodling happily at kindergarten and my father was introducing me to the wonderful world of computers.
My dad died after a four year battle with colon cancer in february. My mother and I closed down the family business in April because I didn't have the money to buy it (I was 24) and she wanted no part of anymore. I found a new job in May. My supervisor told me years later that when I started that job I looked traumatized, like I had been through a war and that every time I looked at her, she felt I was staring right through her. She was right. I don't even remember the first two years at that job and I've been there 23 years. I still don't deal with stress well. I probably never would have gotten the job, but it is a small town and the president was on a business board with my dad and probably felt sorry for me.
End of January of 1994, I badly broke my right ankle. February, consequently, was the first time I ever had surgery. In June, I graduated eighth grade and in August, I got a new puppy.