Let’s start from the very beginning.  It’s a very good place to start.It starts at the University of Illinois in 1992.  In a place called FAR, an apt acronym, as  it was the farthest dorm from the center of campus.  More specifically, it started in the penthouse… well, not really.  But the top (12th) floor.  The elevator didn’t make it up that far.  It went to 11, then you had to walk to 12.  It was possibly the worst place you could be stuck as a freshman.  And to top it all off, it was ALL girls.I came in with quite the chip on my shoulder.  I was a CITY girl.  Surrounded by suburban girls.  I wanted nothing to do with the girls from the ‘burbs.  My roommate went to high school with me, so we went about life together and wanted nothing to do with all the other girls we were “forced” to live with.But sure enough, time goes by.  You run into those suburban girls in the showers, on campus, and in your classes.  And eventually the urban ice melts.  And you make friends with those you swore you would never be friends with.This is my introduction to C.  We are stuck on the private, secret dorm floor together.  We are both pre-med majors.  But I still don’t like her.  She is a suburbanite.  She is jock.  She is my antithesis.I wish I could tell you exactly how it was that we became friends.  But I can’t.  I don’t remember.  It probably wasn’t one thing.  It was being forced to be together day in and day out.  It was being in classes together.  Let’s chalk it up to fate.But friends we became.  And when it happened, it happened fast.Next thing I know, I’ve moved into a double room alone and, for all practical purposes, she has moved in.  My room became the make-out room for her and her freshman boyfriend.  It is where we watched Ferris Bueller EVERY day.  It is where our friendship solidified and never faltered.But it is also where things almost ended.  C didn’t want to commit to sophmore dorms with me, as I am a smoker.  If anyone should be plagued with cancer it should be me.  But I made promises not to smoke in our room (seems strange that I even had the option in today’s day and age).  And I was good with that promise.  Until Cathy relented and picked up a smoke every now and then.  Guiilt.  Yes, I have guilt.But off we go to live together for the rest of my years in college.  She stuck around an extra year for a double major.  I moved to NYC.  And there are a million stories.  Most are worth telling.  And every one of them changed my life in their own way.Usually I have a shit memory for specifics.  But lately the 3+ years I lived with Cathy have flooded my memory.  Most are silly.  Some are sad.  Some are inspiring, but none so inspiring as what came later in life.  Stay tuned.  Let’s start from the very beginning.