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 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.

personal essaying

last night, i sat down and wrote a segmented personal essay. it gets better: not just any personal essay, but a personal essay that i assigned for my students. i sat down in my cozy, welcoming office (*sudden outburst of hysterical laughter distracts writer*) and looked over my own assignment sheet for unit one.

i asked my students to explore the question, "why write?" which framed my entire 101 semester. we brainstormed some reasons in class, and the activities we did responded to their ideas. but it was my turn to share why i write with my students, and i referred to a list of brainstorming questions i gave them almost 10 weeks ago.

not only did i stare at the blank screen for longer than expected, but i found myself bullshitting my own assignment. "ha, i write because i have to. neener." "i write because i'm emo." oh man, is this what happened for my students too? and why did i feel the need to mock an activity that i use to define myself-- my interests-- my goals in life?

perhaps i was uncomfortable admitting to my students how seriously i really do enjoy writing. it's not a choice for me. i write because i am a shriveled up, cranky, apathetic mess without it. how could i possibly share that with them? i'd seem like a freak. (who wears ed hardy shoes. i just have to add that because i'm staring at my pink shoes with a bright koi fish staring back at me. loves.)

but i am a freak.

aren't you too? don't you write because you have something to say? and not just anything: but something you deem important enough to set pen to paper (or-- who am i kidding-- finger to keyboard)? writing is selfish; writing is self-centered; writing is--

self.

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.

and people say dogs are easier than kids.

today was a rather odd day: i spent time thinking up a fun way to demonstrate effective opinion-building with my students (including finding support in both personal experiences and factual evidence), but the activity kinda flopped because i asked them to do it in silence. i guess that's what happens when you try to contain freshmen. . . failed activities. it's ok; i'm still learning.

anyway, so i got back to the house and talked to my roommate for a little bit about school. then i walked into my room so that i could change out of my black slacks and sweater and into something more comfortable (like cotton pants with small little riley-dogs on them). i unzipped my boots and threw them into my shoe box (i still haven't gotten a shoe rack yet); then i walked around the end of my bed and opened my closet.

i realized my sock was wet.

and that the bottom of my foot was warm.

yes, you probably guessed it: it stepped in kota barf. seriously. it was still all chunky and warm, which means it was very fresh.

and my reaction, you ask? i just started laughing and pulled off my sock. then i told heather and she cleaned it up. luckily the barf was on the wood floor and not on my new black shaggy rugs. but still. kota barf. at least she feels comfortable enough to just let it all out. literally.

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.

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.

subliminal advertising?

Basically, I need to get back to work, but I thought I'd share this, because I'm a crazy crazy dork: I am incessantly coughing and am trying to mentally stop this involuntary bodily function in time for my 101 class tomorrow (how awkward can it be when your teacher is turning red, sweating, and hacking up a lung while trying to suck on cough drops and drink water while still coughing. . .) when a Vicks commercial appeared magically on T.V. Little green upside-down pyramids dropped to earth and comforted little rosy-cheeked children tucked into bed. I can wish, can't I?