Right now, I'm sitting in the Foreign Language computer lab before my 8am Technical Writing class that I'm technically not getting credit for. However, I will still graduate, at least, that's what College of Education has told me (suck on that one, Auburn University)!

I'm all dressed up to go to Beaureguard High School this afternoon for a (follow-up?) interview. I feel like a monkey because I never (ever!) go to class in anything but a pair of blue jeans and flip-flops. Anyway, I'm lookin' good and ready to kick some a at my interview thingy.

So for this class, we're having to interview someone in our field of study, someone who actually is working and knows how it is out in the real world. To gear up for our interview, we had to create "In the next 10 years..." bios about our life. I just liked mine so I'm putting a copy below. Enjoy!

It doesn’t seem like 10 years ago I was sitting in Haley Center in Dr. Littleton’s Technical Writing class, wondering where I would be now. That was the summer before I graduated and started working in Uriah, Alabama. I was still young and new to the teaching profession; there were lots of issues in my teaching method I still had to work out, discipline being the main one.

I taught for two years in Uriah, Alabama. The first year I taught 7^th ,8^th , and 9^th grades. It was a struggle, but ultimately worth it. The next year I was moved up to senior English in the high school wing. After spending literally all my time (both at Auburn University and at Uriah) teaching middle schoolers, high schoolers was definitely a challenge.

The summer after my second year teaching, I moved to England to explore teaching abroad. I taught the American Novel and American Culture to 6^th form (18 year olds) students in Essex. I liked that job, but wanted to see more of the world, so for the next three years, I taught ESL in rural India. While in India, I joined a non-profit organization that fronted young women money to make and sell home-made goods (such as baskets, jewelry, fabrics) part-time. Also, we worked with scholarship programs to send some students to college overseas.

After those first 6 years, I decided to take a break and do some writing. For the next 2 years, I worked on publishing a novel and compiling poetry and essays I had written during my time abroad. Also while publishing my writing, I received my Masters Degree in English.

Currently, I teach Junior and Senior level AP English and I teach World Literature I in the evenings twice a week at the local community college. I am working on my next novel and plan to go to China to teach ESL in the summer.

Gnothi Seaton (et tu McKelly)

TODAY I SCHEDULED TWO INTERVIEWS THIS WEEK!!!!!!
*Jumps around dancing to Van Halen (not Van Hagar, maybe Scissor Sisters--the gayest music I listen to).*

I have one on Wednesday at noon at Benjamin Russell High in Alex City and one Friday morning at 8 am (booooo) at JU Blacksher (SPELLING?) High in Monroe County. I really friggin' want a job.

So two things really pissed me off today. In lieu of a prompt, I shall write about them. Prepare yourself for...

EXTREMELY PISSED OFF AMANDA (it happens about 3 times a week. What can I say? I drink a lot of caffeine).

So first, I took a nap today. It was very pleasant. I snuggled with the Pig, he did not fart in bed (he's a true gentleman), and I dreamed of Bear Grylls (heh heh, that's wear the pleasantness ends and the raw beastial carnage begins. Not really, he came into Chappy's and I spilled hot tea on him and when he yelled at me I told him to get out of my country.)

Anyway...

When I woke up, I found my roommate in the living room watching tv. She then told me that we had recieved a visitor that afternoon. Some minimum-wage working, illegal-alien pimping, GED-earning, butt-ball (why yes, I am an English major). When I moved into the Exchange (or SEXchange, if you're nasty) three years ago, I was told that for every cigarette butt found outside our building, everyone living in said building gets fined $1. For three years, I and all my roommates have been super-anal about putting ours in the ashtray. For three years, I have never had one complaint.

That is, until this jackass comes up and tries to fine us $495 (yes, almost five hundred dollars, US) for them. Apparently, the nineteen year old ass bags on the first floor tried to pawn it off on us. Yet another reason why I am done with college life. I'm too old and have too much to worry about without this bullshit going on. I'm trying to establish my career, support myself, find an apartment, build an ADULT life, and I have to deal with this shit.

The other thing that royally pissed me off I won't go into. I'm afraid it may hurt someone or cause a huge internet war, so I'll leave it ambiguous.

Suffice to say that certain people have been judging me from their ivory towers (built out of guano). It's not limited to this instance--it's been going on several times (I know for a fact because I'm not a fucking idiot)-- this is just the one time that really set me off.

For the record, I know who I am and what I stand for. I've built for myself a list of morals and I take those morals very seriously. I'm 21 years old, single, and educated. I don't answer to anyone and I certainly don't appreciate people (who think they know me) doling out advice or judgements where they are most unsolicited. Obviously it isn't worth it to make friends or become close to people because they begin analyzing every action of your life like they can read you. Beleive me when I say, I have never met anyone who can read me well, and I'm more complicated than smoking or what I wear, or who I choose to associate with.

And now that I've sounded sufficiently like a superficial brat, I'm going to bed. And visions of Camels and contracts will dance in my head.

5-toed sloth-dom

Haven't written anything in awhile. I would like to say it's because I've been super-busy with school, or a job, or anything. The reality is that I have been slowly turning into a sloth. Yes, and not one of those punk three-toed ones. Oh no. When I laze around, I do it like a champ. The remote in one hand, Maizetos in the other, Conan on TV and polish on my toes. Oh, and Oreos on the table. Meh, it's a life.

I have been looking for a job. I went back to Chappy's. I'm already ready to quit. I like the people I work with, I like my bosses, but serving food is the most humiliating job I can think of.

But now back to the writing prompts I abandoned so long ago.

Describe your favorite quote:

"In my early twenties, I lived life anxiously from one day to the next, hoping for a salvation I could not define."
- Pankaj Mishra

I actually hated the book this was taken from, An End to Suffering. It's sort of a conglomeration of one Canadian-Indian's rediscovery of rural India. Along with his personal journey is the historical journey of Buddha and his teachings. If I learned anything from this book, it was that I could never be Buddhist. Perhaps "an end to suffering" would be nice, but it life would be devoid of the pleasure that comes with the sublime satisfaction of your cravings that lead to suffering. Would that be a life worth living? No. I would become nothing more than an automaton. I would lose my humanity.

I like this quote because when I read it, it did, and still does, apply to me. As a young person, away from home, trying to discover who I am, who my friends are, what I want to do, etc. I yearn for some Divine instruction manual to drop out of the heavens and land at my feet. I feel like I need to figure out where all this is headed for me to make my existence meaningful. Then again, it begs the question: would the struggle be meaninful if I knew of it from the beginning?

Anyway, I feel a nap coming on...Time to go be a sloth.

First JOURNAL entry

Last Thursday, I had my very last classroom management class EVER! Yes, the year is coming to a close. Monday and Tuesday I'll be in the classroom, observing; Wednesday will be a university day, Thursday will be a field trip to Calloway (sp?) Gardens; Friday will be field day in which I get the honorable task of hosting the ping-pong tournament. I'm actually really excited about Friday. Not so much sweating off all my concealor and trying to pretend that I know what's going on in between times, but giggling at uncoordinated adolescents cursing under their breath when they miss a shot, like I can't hear them.

As I said in previous posts, I'm trying to write more; it's a goal I'm setting for myself this month/year/whatever. Now, obviously it's not working out too terribly well since I've only had two posts in the past two or three weeks, but thankfully I have a little assistance. Last Thursday was a day in which our professor wanted us to bring in visuals. One fellow student brought in a list of journal entries that "work", meaning her students responded positively to them, writing and sharing a lot. Now, some of these prompts I'm not a huge fan of (they don't excite me as a writer), but I'm willing to give them a shot. I would like to write every day, but any self-help guru will tell you that when trying to make lifestyle changes, it is imperitive that you don't set unreasonable goals for yourself. So, the goal I'm making myself will be to post at least three times a week. To help me along will be the following journal entries. I'll post the question along with the entry, so if some random blogger does come across this, in all unlikelyhood, please comment your responses. Or e-mail, I'm not sure if you can, but try:) <--last time you'll see that...I secretly despise text faces, even in the most appropriate of settings.

1. If you could become any item found in Wal-mart, what would you be and why?

Well, when I first saw this question, I immediately thought: bouncy-ball. Easy. They get to hang out in the middle of the aisle in an obscenely large crate with all their bouncy-ball friends. With all the different patterns, colors, sizes, and textures, diversity is not only represented, but cherished. Children (and let's face it, adults) salivate over them. They're inexpensive, uncomplicated, and when used put a smile on everybody's face. Come on, name one time when you've bounced a bouncy-ball and not laughed hysterically. Even the hollow "poing" sounds they make when they hit cheap tile floors is cheerful.

The only problem I have with bouncy-balls is that they're easily disposable. They're kind of like the crack-whores of the toy department. They huddle together in broad daylight, they've all been felt up at least a million times, most of them are disfigured from some kind of rough play. Although their low price tag may be a virtue for the consumer, it sucks for the ball. They become easily disposable, ready in mass quantity. Ready to be bounced for an hour and then thrown up in the gutters/tree/attic/basement/sewer (depending on the size) and forgotton, only to be replaced by another ball, perhaps a more expensive one.

It doesn't stop there. Think about those annoying stickers the seller puts on those things. The ones that declare the toy to be safe for kids 3 and up, the ones that forever brand the ball to be 50 cents (or 99, the economy's pretty low right now). The ones that cannot simply be peeled off -- oh no-- they must be plucked, picked, scraped, sanded, etc. Once said sticker is off they leave a nasty mystery goo. This sticky substance never comes off; it's always there, like a scar that attracts dirt and leaves and whatever other unmentionables might be in the way of its glorious bouncing.

Also, who makes these bouncy-balls? It's not as romantic as how humans are made. As baby bouncy-balls, they're not as cute as puppies or even mice. No, they're mass produced at some smoke and sweat filled factory in China. The (un?)lucky ones are plunked from a quarter machine at a tender age into the sweaty palms of a 14 year old in the grocery store. The ball is bounced in school, inevitably pissing off some teacher, where it then spends its remaining years shoved into a drawer where it is poked with paper clips and busted pens. And you thought your adolescence was hellish.

In conclusion, while being a bouncy-ball might have its virtues, overall it sucks. Hard. Tomorrow, I have to buy groceries. I'm out of toilet paper and am desperate for some sweet tea, plus, I have no breakfasts for the mornings. I am resolved tonight to buy a bouncy-ball at Wal-Mart and give it all the tlc it deserves. I think I might name it Ralph and keep it on my bed (or at least in that vicinity). I encourage all to do the same.

bock-bock-bock.

I think I'm a chicken.

Strike that. I know I'm a chicken.

There have been times in my life when I know I've been brave. I moved out of state without knowing a soul for college. I took Restoration and Early 18th Century British Literature. I've eaten Indian food.

But I'm terrified to get to things I really want. To this day, if someone asked me why I got into teaching, I wouldn't know what to say. The platonic answer I would give is that I want to empower youth and give them the tools they need to be productive members of society, but I can't really let myself believe that this is true. The truth is that I was a sophomore completely out of core classes to bullshit with and I needed a major. Yes, I admit it.

Don't get me wrong, I love teaching now. I love designing lesson plans. I love talking to kids. I love having control of a classroom. I don't, however, love the idea of staying in Alabama for my entire life.

I've come to accept that I probably won't go to England next year as I originally planned. That sucks. A lot. I guess I'll stick it out here and save some money and try not to get sucked into a permanent position. But I'm so terrified that will happen. Bock Bock Bock.

Since I was in high school, my crazy never-ever-in-a-million-years-will-it-happen-not-even-if-I-went-on-Oprah dream has been to work for National Geographic magazine. To go to remote places, travel, put myself into political and social unrest, photograph a rebellion, etc. etc. But I never had the guts to join even my high school newspaper because deadlines and the evil troll who headed the paper scared the living piss out of me. Bock Bock Bock.

When I came to college, an advisor suggested to me that I go into journalism. However, that would mean that I had to write for the Plainsman. The thought of my peers reading my incredibly insightful exposes on the Concourse bricks makes me want to vomit. Bock Bock Bock.

So here I am, finishing up my fourth year as an intern. Although I'm excited about the prospect of graduating and getting a job and an adult salary, I wonder if perhaps I'm being a chicken. It really is too late to turn back, and like I said, I like what I do; I'm good at what I do. But am I playing it safe? Is this what I want?

I've spent so long defending my career of choice, I'm starting to think I don't even believe in it anymore. That scares me. I can't be scared of what I know I'll be doing for at least the next 30 years of my life.

I try to placate myself by dreaming of writing novels or doing free-lance journalism, or moving to England to marry Bear Grylls. However, what's going to happen to me when I realize those dreams are a wasted look at a life I'll never have?

Bock. Bock. Bock.

First Ever Blog

Writing is important.
Writing is thinking.

That being said, I welcome you to my first ever blog.
I admit, internet blogging is one of the lamest past-times ever created. Not because it is mostly bored people yapping about their misinformed political views or their pathetic relationships, but because the words they carefully type into these tiny text boxes are hardly ever read by anyone other than their friends or the douche bloggers that peruse these sites to pick fights from the comfort of their parents' homes.

I'm not writing this for these people. I'm writing this for me. More later...