Monday, March 21, 2005

Not that Anyone Asked, But...

I got a letter in the mail today from the Office of Teacher Education. Letters from these people make me nervous for many reasons, not the least of which is that their bureaucratic efficiency makes the DMV look like Delta Force.

Anyway, the letter said that my Phase III application had been accepted. This is good news; it means I have the green light to do my student teaching a year from now. The letter went on to say placements had not yet been determined. This is bad news. We Secondary Education / English majors were given the choice of two locations: Laramie or Cheyenne, and I really want Laramie. Cheyenne is only 45 miles away or so, and on an interstate with a 75 mph speed limit, it's a pretty quick trip (or at least, it would be a quick trip in anything other than my truck). I'd just rather not make that commute every day. Besides, when it snows, the pass becomes a total deathwish.

Speaking of, if anything remotely like Terri Schiavo's situation ever happens to me, here's what you need to do:

1. Give me three years. If after those three years I have not yet miraculously recovered, pull the plug/feeding tube on the third anniversary of the injury. Then go have a beer at the diner across the street.

2. In the event of confusion, consult my spouse. Whoever that winds up being, their word goes. I love my parents and all, but goddammit, my wife will know me better.

Finally, I wish I could take credit for that DMV/Delta Force joke, but alas, I stole it from Get Your War On.

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