The short version of the story is that I just don't know.

The long version is that a paraprofessional at my school told me about www.teachforamerica.org, in which recent college grads (you don't need any educational background) commit two years of their lives to teaching in underachieving parts of the country. "To keep your options open, you know?" she said.

I checked it out, just out of curiosity. I looked at the website on February 23, and the deadline to apply was February 18. The next deadline is September 30.

I've felt so committed to this Peace Corps idea, but I feel more connected to the above. I've found some similar programs, just to explore some options, and they're appealing.

The last month and a half at the PTC has been enlightening to me in so many ways, and it's all happening at lightning speed.

I've decided that if I was going to go to grad school right now, at this moment, I don't think I would go for social work. I just don't see myself doing it when I look ahead five years.

I wonder if I got a flat tire last month for a reason. If I hadn't gotten a flat tire, I wouldn't have needed the help from the teacher I work with, and we probably never would have had the conversation in her car about the possibility of getting a graduate degree in special ed.

About a month and a half ago, I spewed a fountain of bitterness and cynicism on here about relationships. A wise friend of mine commented that you can't control your feelings, but I was still headstrong. It's hard to imagine yourself opening your heart up again after you've been burned, and I wanted to feel like I was doing something to protect myself from that.

For some reason, I'm not so scared anymore. I've known Andres for close to a year now. I see more of who he is everyday, and that makes me happy.

My mom sent me something the other day that a friend of hers gave her:

1) When making a decision, your options are always limited.
2) You made the best decision you could with the information you had at the time.
3) If I had made a different decision, I would keep second guessing it too.

She sent it to me in response to my handling of the roommate issues.

Gah!

I decided to take a nap at 4:00 pm yesterday, set my alarm for 9:00 pm (expecting to do something other than sleep), blew off the alarm, and just woke up now, at 11:30 am. Not sleeping throughout the week really takes it out of me . . .

I must go and work out now, and go for groceries . . .

Thus far, two things have happened today:

1. I had a Peace Corps interview, and I got some major news. Things are going to start moving fast from this point onward. More details to come . . .

2. I signed up for a 100 mile bike ride in Buena Vista on May 19th (http://www.bvbf.org/). I'm going to do it with my dad; we did a 65 miler about two years ago, so this is the next step. New Belgium is going to supply beer (ala Fat Tire) to the riders afterwards . . . mmm.

I only ran 2.2 miles last night, in preparation for running 5 miles tonight. Mmm . . .

I dropped my substance abuse class. I don't need it to graduate, and was only taking it because I could. I'm just not all that focused on being in the classroom right now after getting a taste of what's outside . . .

The internship is teaching me things covertly. I'm absorbing like a sponge . . .

On a scale from 1-10, with one being terrible and ten being amazing, please rate your past week.

Internship: 9

Commitment to and satisfaction with running: 8.5

Personal life: 9

Quantity of sleep: 6

Quality of sleep: 9

Social life/ friend relationships: 8.5

Outlook on the future: 8.5

Are there any other comments or suggestions you would like to add?

The roommate situation has improved, I'm learning more about trust, and I get to go home/ see my dog/ see my relatives from WI in two weeks.

I set up an interview with the Peace Corps recruiter. It's a week from today, at 9:00 am.

Life is good now, and there's not a lot I would change. I think that my wanting to be shipped halfway across the world stems a lot from a motivation for personal and professional growth.

I took a lenghty nap, and I feel like a new person. The stomach flu is going around, and for a bit I felt like I was becoming one of its victims, but I think it was a false alarm. Hurrah!

So, roommate relations are still . . . strained. We say "hi" and "bye."

You know, it's not even the stupid magazine I'm upset about. It's what the magazine perpetuates, and the other way around. I don't think they'll be grasping that concept anytime soon, though.

No matter how clearly or eloquently I try to tell them, they're just not going to get it. I asked one of them if he could possibly think of any reason why I wouldn't want the magazine out, and he responded with a flat out "No." Their friend instant messaged me and said I need to get "an open mind" about the magazine. "It has a lot of good articles," he said. Oh puhleeeeeze, you don't even know the half of it.

It's the good ol' boy network, and all it comes down to is a power struggle. They've all know each other since high school, and that's not going to change. They're not going to take what I feel into consideration. I've begun to think of them as the Axis Powers . . . kind of.

I've lost a lot of respect for them, and am truly disappointed. I really expected more from them. I feel like there's a wall between me and them, and I can't see it being broken down anytime soon, even if the magazines disappear completely.

BUT, enough about that.

Sometimes, I wonder what my uncle would say about things.

My current roommate issues, applying for the Peace Corps, my shortcomings. I try to imagine what he would tell me.

I think I know, but it would have been nice to hear him say it.

If it had just been a Playboy on the table, I probably would have been able to handle that. I don't think that people who read it are "bad," or that it's "bad." That's an entirely different discussion that I'm sure I'll get to at some point on here.

Back in September/ October, I put up three pictures of Australian Cattle Dogs from a calendar in the common area. My roommates said that if I could have my dogs, they could put up their pictures of Maxim women and whatever else they wanted around the common area. I said that I would take down my dogs if they took down their Maxim pictures. Having those pictures of women around made me uneasy, for whatever reason. That's just how I felt, I can't change how I feel about things or my past experiences that cause me to form opinions and beliefs.

From that point on, sexist and racial comments became more commonplace. Anything I said to address it was taken as me having my underwear on too tight and sticking to my principles like a prude. That's how it felt, because things took a long time to change. It's like they just couldn't understand my perspective, no matter how well I could manage to say it, and "majority ruled." Three against one. They win.

They went to Vegas over winter break, and brought back the cards that people hand out on the street corners. They put up some of the raunchiest ones around the apartment, even though I said I didn't want to have to look at those things when I got up to go to my internship in the morning.

So, my point is, this has been building for a long time. I feel like they JUST DON'T GET IT. What do I have to do to get something through their heads? Tear up one of the girly magazines and throw it in the dumpster?

Because that's what I did.

My coffee grinder now has some white powdery stuff in it, and one of their friends (who has a penchant for spite) wrote out three post it notes worth of "How to do cocaine," addressed to me. He's a class act, that one.

See comment #3 on a post on this blog from October 23, 2006.

So, maybe being the one girl living with three guys wasn't the brightest idea in the world.

Respect has been lacking. For this arrangement to have worked out, respect would have to have been paramount. It wasn't. I assumed that it would be when I signed the contract a year ago, but that hasn't played out. Live and learn . . .

I have my reasons for not wanting a Playboy in the common area, for not wanting to be told to "get back in the kitchen," for not wanting to be told to make them dinner, for not wanting to hear racial slurs . . . among other things. Sure, it might be all in fun, but I get to see the ugly side of this "fun."

This has been an issue for the past 6 months. I'm probably being labeled a giant irrational illogical bitch right now by my roommates and their counterparts, but I won't waver in what I feel and believe in.