put that into your car as you hit the semi.

i've started about 5 different posts and deleted them all, so here's an attempt at turning off the internal editor while still keeping my captive audience in mind:

almost 6 months ago, you may recall a post about my impatience with my own growing complacency. well, i've officially staggered across to the spectrum's opposite end and sit passively in the wake of my newfound spite. let me back up a little.

my life isn't how i thought it would turn out to be. (kim warned me about this: "andrea, don't go all fucking emo on me. if you start writing poems on your shoes, we can't be friends.") i know, i know. your reactions are probably something like:

what do you mean?
you're only 22, andrea. life isn't over yet. *hug*
you. are. so. ridiculous.

over a year ago, i decided to continue my education at boise state by pursuing a degree in english. i love reading. i love talking about reading. i love learning through, about, and around reading. it made perfect sense to join this passion with another degree stating that i do it proficiently.

but it isn't how i thought it would be.

i thought i'd sign up for classes that blended some aspect of my interests and practices with theory and larger connections that only a learned professor could establish for me. i thought i'd cradle a book spine in my hand, actively reading with a pen waiting to touch the page and ask probing literary questions, and explore deep issues of what it means to be human.

let's just say it hasn't exactly worked out that way.

i thought i'd develop an interesting and educational lesson plan with activities and assignments aimed at conveying my enthusiasm for writing to my students. i thought i'd earn some respect for my attempts. i thought i'd look forward to watching my students learn and grow not only as writers but as individuals figuring out their identities and futures during their college years.

major disappointment.

on monday, i started my second summer class about inquiry-based project learning. when i signed up in april, i thought that this class would offer me a strategy for teaching that may increase my love for preparing for class each day and executing my painfully detailed plans. instead, i draw pictures of dead rabbits in my notebook and phrases like, "shut up now" on blank pages.

as i was driving home monday after walking kobe in 6 o' clock traffic, i noticed the semi truck in front of me stopping rather suddenly. i thought about not braking. i thought about the accordian-like crunch of my car, the delicate sprinkling of glass on pavement, the blending of my chipped nail polish and gravel, a slight fluttering of my dress hem next to goose feathers and bumpers. and, hey, i wouldn't have to teach again. i'm not belittling or befriending suicide. i'm just being honest about a thought that cut through my mind like a rampid lawnmower blade.

so, dear readers, i've decided to take action: i'm not teaching next year.

i could potentially go on about other aspect of my life that have fallen through: relationships, living situations, recreational habits... all of which i questioned nearly 6 months ago as well. am i that predictable?

i look like a man. and a white girl. hmm.

my love for netflix

i'm housesitting in eagle this month, and because i know my personality, i quickly predicted that i would become a couch-confined blob eating lots of peant m&m's and occasionally indulging in a crossword puzzle or sudoku from the newspaper. fortunately, that hasn't been the entire case. although, a certain entity has brought me endless happiness:

netflix.

i should preface this post with an interesting andrea fact: my first "real" job was working as a guest service representative at hollywood video in eagle. yes, it's true. i rented nearly 300 movies in a span of 2 years (although in my defense, some of those rentals were video games for my brother or movies for the parental unit). after i stopped working for that lovely corporation and shrugged off my starchy purple shirt and black pants uniform, i became really disgusted with the whole movie-watching process. the thought of immersing myself in an alternate world with fake characters and allowing my body ample time to deposit fat cells on my butt urged me to seek other recreational activities. you know, like myspace.

however, i decided that if i was going to be in a strange house, mostly alone, that i'd give netflix a try. the movies come to me, right? i spent near 45 minutes building a 60+ movie queue last thursday, and i was delighted to find the first 3 movies on my list waiting for me when i arrived at the house on sunday night. talk about fast service.

talk about spending hours on the comfy brown suede couch drunk on bloody marys (and vodka tonics. . . and coke with vanilla vodka. . . and beer, but who's keeping track?!) and laughing hysterically at the unlikely duo of bff's in "superbad" or bawling my eyes out (really. . . i feared for the healthy balance of saline in my eyeballs) to "p.s. i love you"-- SEE THIS, people!-- or scribbling in my notebook with small snippets of information from "what the bleep do we know?"

i mean seriously: talk about it! after i watched the first round of movies, i shared one with my mom and then sent the other two away. two days later, more are in the mailbox. it's like christmas/birthday/a hot first date combined. i've watched 5 movies in 5 days. it's incredible.

"lars and the real girl" is coming tomorrow. i can't wait.