new: donation

I've outgrown that phase in my life where I feel judged by the books on my shelf or the need to showcase my novels like, "heck yes, I've explicated that." i'm donating 3 boxes of books to BPL and have more sitting on my floor waiting to go. I am surprised by my hesitation to get rid of my teaching theory books. a little voice somewhere inside whispers "what if..."

new: appreciation

today's new was rather emotional for me. after some space from the pen, I decided to sum up my experience with a few sentences instead of a complex narrative through the often overly-complicated musings of my brain.

I wrote a letter to my high school English and creative writing teacher. two events sparked this: 1) I saw him while I was working and felt overwhelming shame/embarassment/guilt for abandoning my passions in life while being faced with the person who so inspired me to write... I cried under my blankey when I got home (when in doubt, always always blame ridiculous outpourings of emotion on birth control. always.), and 2) I saw a student of mine from my first semester teaching while--again--working and she said, "I liked your class," an unsolicited compliment revealed as if we were talking about them Broncos-- like, what, my composition clas was not a total failure or waste of time and, well, maybe I just projected my insecurities onto teaching the young and impressionable minds at my fingertips. her nonchalant comment made all those late nights at IHOP responding to unit projects completely worth it. and I thought that maybe my high school English teacher would appreciate a short note saying thanks for inspiring me to invest in an education that would shape my perspectives on how I observe and interpret and question the world around me.

after I sealed the note, I felt like tearing it up. what if he thinks I'm crazy? but I promise I will send it tomorrow. because, really, I am a little bit crazy. who isn't?

you didn't think i'd really leave you hanging, did you?

time for some reflection.  thank you, readers, for taking time out of your day to catch up on what's going on in my menial life filled with bordering-on-neurotic contemplations about this strange world around us.

- goodbye, summer.  you were filled with questions-- mostly unanswerable, at no fault of your own-- and now the rest of the year seems like a slow descent into chilly hibernation and gloom.

- my best friend's niece opened a facebook account and wants to be friends.  she's 11.  while i enjoy social networking in all its oversharing glory, i am scared for the generation of children who will grow up looking at pictures of themselves on the internet and researching potential boyfriends on twitter and never really understand anonymity.  some things are meant to stay private; i don't know if an 11-year-old girl can distinguish between what's an appropriate status update and what crosses the line.  i love her; but i denied her request.

- i registered for barber to boise! 24 days! to be honest, i am motivated by 2 things: 1) PANCAKE BREAKFAST WITH COOKIES!!!!!!!!!! and 2) free shirt.

- i need my friends and family in ways i'm not even consciously aware of, but some restless urge inside me begs for a change: moving.  where to-- undecided.  how far-- negotiable.

- the gym routine is starting to bore me.  cardio.  lift weights.  sweat sweat sweat sweat.  sometimes i resent being a girl-- i would love to get my exercise by riding my bike or jogging, but i can't go alone (and since i'm pretty much a loner, i have no one to go with me).  so i'm signing up for a community education class that mixes kickboxing and "modern dance moves"-- which brings me closer and closer to being a true "glee" star-- to break up my workout routine a little bit.  i feel sort of guilty for spending more money on fitness-- like, doesn't gold's gym take enough of my limited funds?-- but, as a pharmacist i used to work with once said, i should never feel bad about splurging on activities that make me a better person.

- kurt vonnegut's "player piano" has been on my nightstand for weeks now, just 2 chapters read.  what's wrong with me?  i used to love reading.  did my education really leech all literary desires from my personality?  maybe it will come back.  or perhaps i need a new genre/author/etc to get me interested again.  recommendations welcome.

- halloween is approaching quickly: i've decided to be a cowgirl!  although today, amy decided not to throw a halloween party, so my costume idea may change based on the party venue.  my co-workers think my potential costume is missing an essential girl element: the slut factor.  to be continued.

how are you, reader?  share with me.

summer day 72

I like big books and I cannot lie. this is the exception. studying for the certified technician exam = boo.

summer day 41

this is proof that my study skills are indeed life-long. take that.

a dear student

i complain a lot, don't i? it's such a misrepresentation of my life; i am continually reminded of the many blessings that enrich and complete me.

for example:

1. i have a fabulous new apartment all to myself. i can set the heater at 62 (please believe it, because anything else is a waste of money; that's why God invented fleece zip-ups and socks), i never have to look at a dirty dish collecting mold on the kitchen table, and i have a great view of several trees and an empty pond.

2. i love my peers, and i almost cried tonight when i walked to my car after saying goodbye to jessica after our last 561 class of the semester-- of ever.

3. i realize that no phd program will ever accept me based on my lack of scholarly research, publications, etc., but at least i don't slander the literary name like jodie foster did in "the brave one": she used robert frost's line of poetry "i could not stop for death so he kindly stopped for me" as her justification for her vigilante killing spree.

4. on the last day of 101, one of my students came up to me afterwards and said he was sad that our class was over. (insert my heart breaking here.)

then he asked if it was okay that he signed up for an hour block to go over his portfolio with me during conferences. he said our unit 3 conference helped him a lot and he wanted to make sure he had enough time for the portfolio conference. both unit 3 and portfolio conferences were optional. (insert pieces of broken heart breaking into smaller pieces.)

and then during our hour long conference going over two of his poems, he said, "can i come back later this week to talk about my short story? this is so helpful. i don't know what i'd do without you."

i thought my students had stolen my soul, tortured it with their eye-rolling, taunted it with their finger-guns silently blowing out their nonexistent brains, and crushed its vibrant desires into runny pulp and squelched dreams. but this student's comments reminded me that i do indeed still have a soul.

and that soul will miss teaching.

i'm not in denial... i just refuse to listen to your truth.

i graduate in approximately 9 days. in 9 days, i could drive across the country. in 9 days, i could listen to "brighter discontent" by the submarines over 3,103 times. in 9 days, i will be unemployed.

my impending poverty makes me question my recent purchases that could have provided 6 months of groceries, like the above betsey johnson dress. add the ed hardy watch and you're approaching 8. add the nina shoes and you're at 10. add my diamond necklace and you're at 2.5 years. all for one outfit. (i'll insert here that the black shrug was only $6 on clearance at vanity!) the occassion that calls for such extravagance: the 4th annual english majors association banquet.

nevermind that the theme of said banquet was "the great depression." boxes of baking soda, mac and cheese, and canned corn were the centerpieces. a brown, worn boot accepted donations.

two of my friends' fathers have been laid off in the past week. another friend works 2 jobs and complains about the whiny "masters holders" that work at starbucks with her. the career center rep from BSU bemoans the sudden dearth of off-campus job postings.

i'd like to think that even albertson's needs someone to arrange the red, shiny apples just right. or some lazy CEO needs a girl to staple his revised budget reports and proposed productivity increases. or bath and body works needs an "elf" in a green apron to offer product scents and squirts of lotion.

leave me to my denial. let me bask in the glory of unfulfilled expectations. it's nothing that i'm not used to.

i suddenly understand:

i heard a line somewhere (perhaps read a line somewhere) that's something like this: "at the precipice edge we stand alone." sounds pretty dark, right?

but that's where i am right now.

in many aspects of my life, i've reached the end:

-the end of my student days at boise state
-the end of my masters degree
-the end of my conversations with fellow TAs about the meta-meta-metaness of rhet/comp theory
-the end of my teaching faithful yet heartless 101 students
-the end of my cohabitation with a guy i used to really admire and who seemed to emulate all those wonderful bookish-writerly things that i never was
-the end of living with roommates.ever. (husbands don't count)
-the end of purchasing spendy (and now very mainstream) ed hardy items online, since i now have a rent payment/utils to pay for SOLO
-the end of vacillating freely in the far-off notion that someday i'll have to make a decision

because i've reached the edge of the precipice. and i am alone. i won't have my student peers to remind me of how english studies dumb i am, or students to email me frantically in the middle of the night so that the first thing i do in the morning is check my "teacher" email, or loudly thunking footsteps outside my door in the AM.

i wish i could describe the view from here, but i'm afraid of opening my eyes. i wish i could dance and sashay my hips a little to celebrate that i've made it. i'm here. i've arrived.

just please tell me it's not a dead end. i don't have wings to fly. and i don't have the guts to jump.

it could always be worse:

greetings, dear blog readers (all 2 of you!). i've been noticeably absent lately, and i whole-heartedly blame this on a number of things-- including the typical "i've been busying updating my facebook status... isn't that enough to appease you people?!" excuse-- but i also point the finger at the increasing emo attitude that has sunk into the return of my purple eyeliner and 3 skimmer shoe purchases lately.

(the shoes are cute though. one pair is black with blue and purple stars on them. not at all emo. stop looking at me like that.)

it seems like any post that i wanted to start would probably detail how miserable grad school makes me right now (including no literature classes...it's sooooo great that i'm pursuing a degree that doesn't offer any interesting classes at the right time for its students!), or how i die a little inside each day i walk to my 101 classes, or how much i hate being single and i'm becoming increasingly convinced that i am utterly undesireable and destined to reign domestically alongside 10 ferrets and closets full of ed hardy shirts.

but, in all reality, school is much better than i thought it would be. and my students are actually fabulous writers with incredibly rich backgrounds and beliefs about writing. and my love life would probably improve if my choice in boys would likewise improve.

so, you ask, what is your deal? can you find nothing to celebrate?

boise's rapid descent into winter has begun with the threat of rain, chilly mornings, and almost overnight change of leaf colors. this morning after i woke with a killer hangover (from my attempts to drown my emo outlook with blue boar beer and season two of "arrested development"), i made a special trip to campus to print and deliver an article for a student (i care too much, even though i said i wouldn't). on the way there, i selected p!nk's new song "so what" to blast on my stereo, slapped on my hot pink aviators, and slung my left arm over my steering wheel like a bad-a from mo-town in central cali.

i floored it. so what? i'm still a rockstar. i've got my rock moves, and i don't need you. and guess what? i'm havin more fun. and now that we're done, i'm going to show you tonight: i'm all right, i'm just fine, and you're a tool. so... so what? i am a rockstar. i've got my rock moves. and i don't want you tonight. p!nk is surprisingly therapeutic.

as i rounded the corner, i passed a lady in a light blue tank and sweats walking a large brown dog. her head whipped around to look at me with scorn as i passed. so i backed off on the gas. it's probably not a good idea for retired women with a penchant for punishing reckless driving youths to know my car and where i live.

as the corner straightened out, i slammed on the brakes so hard my ipod flew off my seat and landed on the floor.

at least 10 squirrels.

frolicking on the asphalt.

chasing, ducking, tumbling, chattering (i suppose). playing. gathering. together.

i sat there in my car watching their friendly tag. i realized how much i love boise at this time of year. if i wasn't teaching and had a "real" full-time job, i would have missed this sight. if i wasn't a student of writing, i may not have the right skills to present these miniature experiences so that you, dear reader, might appreciate it too.

oh, autumn. let me fall with you.

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?

Well, it's been an interesting month so far! To think that 22 days ago I was celebrating Kim's birthday at P.F. Changs boggles my mind.

Several dozens of pages later (including not one. . . not two. . . not three. . . but four essays for my grad classes, including an essay on one of my essays!) and several dozens of hours later (from reading 102 portfolios), I finished off my Spring 2008 semester at Amy's combined birthday-bachelorette party. We ate at P.F. Changs (I'm becoming a regular), and then went dancing and drinking at Hannah's. Yes, you read that right! I was getting my groove on.

But I can't escape school that easily. . . the next morning bright and early at 8:30, I had school. It was the first meeting before my summer school class starts in June. School has consumed so many hours of my life (waking and non-waking). I truly thank the people I work with for putting up with my office complaints, attempts at humor, and my Clorox wipe obsession. You can also view my old school computer in my office. What you can't see, though, is an autographed picture of Britney Spears hanging in my cubicle. It's glossy and totally photocopied =)

On Saturday, I watched my best friend Kim graduate (along with others like a roomie, Brett, and various peeps from Eagle) from BSU. I'm so proud of them all!

As if all this wasn't enough, Yann and his girlfriend Alexis came to Boise for the weekend. It was great to see Yann again, and his taste in girls has significantly improved since high school.
This weekend is Amy's wedding, and then I'll be moving temporary to Eagle to housesit for the month of June. I'm super excited about it. I hope you're enjoying your summer vacations too!

update on the cruellest month....

i think t.s. eliot was on to something when he called april the cruellest month. i just want it to be may. . . or more specifically, june. is it too much to ask for a time warp? sheesh.

so, my life has been rather weird lately. not necessarily weird in a bad way-- just weird. i think this may have something to do with four weeks (ok, five including spring break but sort of excluding spring break) straight of presentations for my 3 grad classes. on top of that, i read and "evaluated" 47 unit projects, read an entire hawthorne romance, and a bunch of other miscellaneous items. as well, my hair is grossly long and i'm in desperate need of a haircut.

i've started going to the gym (today breaks my five day gym streak), and i realized what a wimp i am. my back has been hurting from muscle strain, but today when i was getting into the shower, i noticed a really yucky yellowish purple bruise on my shoulder blades, which is from a machine that works my lower back. as well, i have a weird bruise on my right forearm from hitting the doorknob in my room. i installed a coat rack on the wall behind my door (it's the only place where i can hang my coats), but then it fell, and then i hung it back up again. my door doesn't open all the way now, and i've become a creature of habit and still walk through the doorway as if the door was open all the way. . . hence the weird bruise on my forearm. go figure.

yesterday, i babysat for my favorite family in eagle, the brandecker's. i've been babysitting for their 3 great kids for about six years now, and i've had the joy of watching the children grow up into teenagers. (yes, the oldest is now a teenager!) so yesterday, the girls informed me of a father-daughter dance at their church, and the middle child who is the oldest girl decided to model her new dress that she got for the dance. she ran upstairs in great excitement to put it on and show me. she ran back downstairs, yelling, "andrea, will you tie this for me?" when she got downstairs, my eyes welled with tears at the sight of this beautiful girl in a pretty, flowy white halter sundress with blue dots and a sash around the waist. her white sandals with little rhinestones along the strap over her foot completed this very cute-- and very grown up-- look. i tied her sash. she asked me if i liked her dress, and i told her it was absolutely beautiful. and then i felt very sad inside. when did she grow up? when will it stop? (for the record, her younger sister playfully crinkled her face and said, "yuck. you look like gross." =)

tonight i went to the final moveable feast of the academic year. it was great-- great food, great book, great people. maybe i fit in with these literary folk. just maybe. this entire m.a. program has me seriously doubting whether i'm competitive enough, intellectual enough, motivated enough, and just enough of enough to get through it.

this has quickly become an emo post. i will stop now. before i end it, i bid you adieu and hope you're having a wonderful weekend.

room pics and other stuff.

Even though the room isn't finished, I still thought I'd post some pics. This first picture is the view when you walk into the room (that's the wood door on the left-hand side). You can't see them, but I have two black shaggy rugs on the floor to help cover some of the wood flooring. You also can't see the black iron curtain rod above the windows, but it's pretty cool. Obviously, the curtains aren't in yet-- but soon, hopefully.

Moving on. . . the picture above is of my desk (obviously) and a really cool spiral candle votive holder. I saved up some summer babysitting money to buy that from Pottery Barn a few years ago. The cool hanging thing in the corner is from a souvenir shop in Sonora, California. Then, the picture below is of my new bedspread and some random wall art. You can't see it, but I have a four-shelf bookshelf at the foot of my bed.

The only wall I didn't take a picture of is just my closet with sliding mirror doors; it's on the same wall as my door.

Here's Kota! (I thought her name was "Coda," but I was wrong. . . it's pronounced the same.) She's cute. I wasn't too sure about her at first, but she's definitely a great dog and keeps me company when the roommates are busy-- which is most of the time.

I thought I'd tell you this random story: I decided to stop on my way home from school to buy some salad, milk, sugar, baking soda, and frozen veggies for the Quick and Easy Chicken Pot Pie-- recipe courtesy of Arijaan and Bisquick-- at Albertsons on Beacon, which is pretty close to school. I walked through the store to collect all the food, stopping every once in a while to ponder if I need granola bars or tube biscuits (ultimately deciding to skip over those). Then, I get to the checkout lanes and opt for self-checkout. I punched in my preferred card number, and start scanning. After I finished, the nice lady in the machine tells me, "Proceed to checkout." I pushed the button on the screen with one hand and dug for my wallet with the other hand. I find my cell phone, a pen, some saltine crackers. . . no wallet. I opened my bag as beads of sweat start forming on my forehead. . . no wallet. I started freaking out.

And then it hit me: my wallet was in my sweatshirt pocket. And my sweatshirt pocket is next to my bed at home.

So, I did the forehead slap, deep sigh, and pushed the button to cancel all groceries. I looked around to tell someone about my blunder, but see no one in sight. I exit Albertsons.

The end of the story is that I retrieved my wallet and went back to a different Albertsons, cooked a yummy pot pie without the chicken, and now I need to work on some homework.

thoughts on a wednesday morning

bear with me: it's been a very long day/ morning, and i've decided to blog about it in a very montaigne-esque fashion. as of late, i have been struck with the overwhelming desire for change-- in so many areas of my life. i am incredibly annoyed with myself for becoming so complacent and comfortable with just about everything (from school to relationships to living arrangements); can i just pack up and flee to the woods for a week? pull a dave chappelle and roam around africa for a little while and clear my mind? transform into bruce almighty for a second so that he can use his godly powers to read and respond to the ever-growing mound of student papers on my desk? sprout some biceps like popeye on spinach to help me lift boxes of books, my tv, etc. that i've neatly packed for moving? (i'll let that image of me trying to commune with rhinos marinate for a sec.)

seriously, where are some gummi worms when i need them?

ok, so i'm being sort of whiny. (i told you this was inspired by montaigne, right?) perhaps i should follow becca's example and blog about things that i love-- being that it's february and all. well, right now i love blogger.com because it is awake and available to hear me out. thanks, blogger, i appreciate you.

winter wonderland

Even though I like Boise, the weather stinks. I am a California girl at heart-- a true valley girl who prefers sunshine, beaches, and orchards over ice, snow, and frigid winds (yes, I said "frigid"). However, with harsh winter comes great freedoms (do you like the 'Spiderman' speech imitation??? I truly am an English major), which delight me thoroughly-- so much so that I've created a Top 10 list for Winter Break:

1. Sleeping in. Ev-er-y day.

2. Learning to sew on the sewing machine. My first project was fleece cage accessories for my favorite ferret at EFS, Five:

I hand-delivered the hammock, floor pad, and sleep sack. Not to sound conceited or anything, but he (and his cagemate Cracker) loved them.

3. Getting my hair cut. I opted for a long-layered shaggy look a la Trish in "The 40-Year Old Virgin."

3 1/2. Taking random pictures of my new haircut and imagining that I could totally rock a body perm:

4. Ringing in the new year with Brett. We made margaritas, watched "The Pursuit of Happyness," played video games, and caught the last three seconds of the ball dropping in NYC:

5. Meeting friends for some quality pig-out time, like Anna and Christy, at Cafe Ole; Amy at Moxie Java; and the Melville Edition interns at Bittercreek Alehouse (Becca, you're next!).

6. Wimping out on driving anywhere in the snow. As the Zamzow's radio commercial warns, "Don't get overly confident if you have four-wheel drive." I'll just over-exaggerate that statement and claim little to no confidence with driving on any road conditions other than "dry."

7. Reading. I actually have time to read recreational literature! I finished "The Nanny Diaries," "The Virgin Blue" by Tracy Chevalier, half of Barbara Kingsolver's "Prodigal Summer" (I'm forcing myself to give it a chance-- slow going!), half of "Blue Like Jazz" by Donald Miller (I need time to let his words marinate between readings), random Walt Whitman poems, and I reread "Choke" by Chuck Palahniuk before giving it to Zach...

8. ... which brings me to my next favorite thing about Winter Break: hanging out with Zachary who is on R&R from his tour in Iraq (he goes back to work on the 18th).

We always have a blast when we're together:

And another for good measure:

9. Watching endless hours of dumb television, including (but not limited to) America's Next Top Model marathons, Project Runway reruns, What Not To Wear, Rachael Ray, and most anything on E! After break, I'll bulk up on some intellectual reading material-- don't worry.

10. Mostly, I love break because it reminds me of how much I enjoy my life. Can school last forever? Can I get paid to go to school for the rest of my life? I really don't mind, as long as I have a few respites every once in a while.

Hope you're having a fun new year as well.

my index finger is killing me...

from incessantly moving around on my mouse/square-thingy while trying to condense my syllabus into four pages (i'm trying in vain to work on my verbose policies. . . that i'm pretty sure no one reads anyway).

currently, i am seeking an elixir to quaff that will result in a short-term death lasting until the third stroke of midnight on thursday, december 20 in a very "romeo and juliet"-ish fashion. payment to be made in the form of my scrumptious tomato soup courtesy of campbell's. or oriental top ramen. you choose. merci beaucoup.

ah, the end of the semester (i call it "cheating death").

You would think by now that I would have planned for the end of the semester cram, late-night paper writing (oh, don't EVEN bring up my pseudo-prospectus disaster!), and preparing for graduate-level presentations the week before dead week. But no. Here I sit in the nice new building at BSU, the Interactive Learning Center, in a room that I reserved for student conferences (you know, to seem more teacherly and to seem like I have connections in high places that hook me up with a sweet breakout room. . .), and weirdly stroking the shiny, silky, fragrant-- in a bookish sort of way-- cover of the new LCRE Moby-Dick.

I thought I'd share the most brilliant opening of a book. Ever. Even though I complain about my coursework, I am still tragically in love with Herman Melville's writing. I also thought I'd share the REAL first line of Moby-Dick (none of that "Call me Ishmael" pishposh):

"Etymology"
(Supplied by a late consumptive Usher to a grammar school.)

The pale Usher-- threadbare in coat, heart, body, and brain; I see him now. He was ever dusting his old lexicons and grammars, with a queer hankerchief, mockingly embellished with all the gay flags of all the known nations of the world. He loved to dust his old grammars; it somehow mildly reminded him of his mortality.

Ah. Dearest Usher: I, too, know mortality. . . especially when my laptop loses a wireless internet connection repeatedly and my cell phone battery dies after less than the stated battery life on the box. Ah, being threadbare.

EMA Fall Banquet

Last night was the EMA Fall Banquet presented by (the spirit of) Lewis Carroll. It was an excuse to dress up (I wore a pretty hot black strapless dress with a black satin sweater wrap and my painful but fierce black stilletos with the sparkly jewel on the ankle strap), hang out with fellow English-interested people and profs, and laugh so hard my face hurt.

Sometimes I'm not sure I fit in with English majors-- am I well-read enough? am I convincing and assertive enough to survive in this field? is writing a narcissistic and self-fulfilling task?-- but I still love them. . . in all their nerdy-laugh, alcohol-induced, and bibliophile greatness.

Elliot's Surgery

A few weeks ago, Elliot suddenly became aware of the season change: allergies kicked in, little squirrels and gophers in the yard, and a slow descent into darkness. . . rather literally.

Elliot's eyes get kinda yucky when his allergies kick in, so we didn't really think too much about his sudden sensitiveness to being touched around his eyes. He has eye drops and medication (hmm... just like his human friends!) to help with this chronic disease. However, when my mom was giving him a bath and was checking out his eyes, she noticed a rather large hole in his left eye. Yes, you read that correctly: a hole. Screaming, she tore down to the vet's office (really, we keep them in business) and Elliot was immediately rushed into surgery to save his eyeball! He punctured the top two layers of his eye and pierced his cornea on something very sharp and very painful.

Luckily, our vet is amazing and was able to save Elliot from being a one-eyed dog! The vet was able to take skin from his under Elliot's eyelid and graft over the puncture wound, but the little doggie probably won't be able to see out of most of his left eye. Home-care has been pretty intense with pain and anti-inflammatory medication and three different kinds of eye drops. He also wears a head cone-- and if you have a dog, you know how funny and sad this can be for an animal-- and can't jump, descend stairs, or do anything fun.

The pain medicine keeps him pretty much knocked out, but I still feel bad for him. Good thing he's a pretty tough little guy! At least I have some company while trying to finish my 598 Inquiry-based research project and while trying to read Hawthorne's "The House of the Seven Gables" for Thursday.

Fall

I don't have office hours on Friday, so I grabbed a few books from my office and left campus around 12:40 after my 101 class. There was only one problem: the EMA Moveable Feast (discussion of D.H. Lawrence's Lady Chatterley's Lover) was at 5 p at Linda Marie's house on 8th street downtown. To kill time, I decided to go by Walmart to buy deodorant and other toiletries; however, after I surveyed the parking lot-- strewn grocery carts, families of 10 children, and the like-- I passed Walmart and went into the Goodwill instead, where I scavenged the racks and found two amazingly cheap items: raspberry cotton blazer (from American Eagle!) and a BCBG khaki-colored skirt that falls past my knees (a big deal when standing in front of classroom of girls and boys). Hooray for cheap (dollar-wise) clothing!

But, the problem still remained: 3.5 hours until the Moveable Feast. So I called my loving boyfriend and discovered that he was on his way to Wendy's. Nothing says "I love you" like devouring deep-fried, crispy golden fries and diabetes-causing Mountain Dew together while the molecules in my body multiply, divide, and rearrange to generously cushion my derriere. A few weeks ago, I invented the "chicken nugget shot" for those of us germ-phobes that will not touch food after shopping for hours (esp. in a used clothing store): lick the sauce, tilt the nugget carton back, and "shoot" the nugget into your mouth. I'm a genius. But I ate my nuggets in relative normalness this time.

The hours until 5 pm closed in; I drove to Memorial Park (Brett had to go to work), parallel parked, and proceeded to read Janet Holmes's F2F for class on Monday. Just imagine: yellow leaves falling outside, the crisp autumn air seeping through the cracks in my doors, blue skies, and seventeen fat squirrels (yes, I counted seventeen!) frolicking around the park. . . as E careens through reflective ponds, attics, and hell. As I watched the corpulent squirrels (seriously, tuck and roll on the furry creatures!) dance and squeak and dig up random brown objects which they then jammed into their mouths, a flashback of Utah's Hogle Zoo prairie dogs entered my mind:


(Don't worry, little one, I know how you feel.)

The EMA Moveable Feast reminds me of how lucky (and perhaps stupid) I am to care enough about my dreams to forego "making bank"-- as one of my students puts it-- to sit around a table at Linda Marie's house, eat cranberry and apple muffins, and drink home-made grape juice while talking about an incredibly seedy and, frankly, disgusting novel. That's OK; I was in good company.

I hope you're well, doing something you love too.