The Eternal Journalist

At one point in my life my own father tried to kill me when I was about five, the story is on my blog in cofa2 somewhere don’t want to link it now. Point is when I fell out of the dump truck onto the ground everyone said I died, or seemed to be dead, then I “popped back up” and started running around like a chicken with its head cut off, that's what my aunt used to say. Looking at the time and circumstance, it's likely my dad felt he had to pedicide me to make me stop babbling about Father Horne.  

Then several times in my life my behavior got me very close to dead, but something always rescued me. 

When I found myself the only journalist writing about the pedophile priests in 2007, I began to wonder, did I really die that day in the dump outside Bartlett Illinois? Sometimes I even wonder if I'm Kathryn anymore since that day; perhaps another entity entered me, knowing that at some point I was going to be the only journalist writing about the pedophile priests whose crimes were at the bottom of all that outrageous behavior, and I’d have to blog about it. 

Even now when I don't write about that subject anymore, I feel so COMPELLED sometimes to blog and post comments and point out evil and corruption and crimes against innocent persons. I even started to fantasize at one point, saying- 

I'm an eternal journalist, I travel the universe to different planets where I enter and live and work as a journalist / communicator in whatever medium they use there to rid that world of some indecency against life that is taking place there.  

And I'm still here on Earth after 76 years so wonder what I’ll write next.