well.

Board of Ed meeting last night. I continue to think two weeks is the perfect measure of time to see the small changes in your life.

Oh, and I hate these meetings. They are so boring, and I can never seem to write a good article.

So I'm sitting here, laptop on the lap, notes by my side, photos (which the editor will hate) already loaded and attached to the email.

And nada.

I don't want to write. Deadline's in two hours. It would take me one, if I would just do it.

I am not a good worker. I am not a good writer. I don't know what to do.

a thought

Writing articles is infinitely easier when you got all your questions answered already.

done.

That was a whole lot of work for just two stories. And though they're done and e-mailed to the editor, all it takes is an e-mail back or a phone call to have me scramming again. Wait, what, those photos were shit? You want a quote from who? Confirm that source's title?

Well, the photo demand may happen. But all in all, I know my stories were good. I had good sources, I had good quotes, I think I strung it together to make sense. That's hot.

It was fun. Could I make it my living? Still unknown. But it sure is satisfying to watch the words string together on the page, and to like the story you're telling.

being nosy

Being a journalist can be fun. The phone calls, the questions, scribbling everything down with a pen, later decoding your chicken-scratch into legible notes-n-quotes. Thinking while your source is talking, what to ask next, oh shit, that was a good quote, what did they say?!?!

And it can be fun to be nosy.

Sometimes.

yawn.

I lied. It's the next night. A very long, long day at work. Busy busy. messy messy. Third night closing in a row.

I went to do some extra-mile-reporting this morning, only I am so afraid to walk up to a stranger and introduce myself and ask some goddamn questions. Why? Why this anxiety? Why?

And if it's because maybe I don't really want to be a reporter, then, please -- so what. I need to do something. Why can't I just do.it.?

I said this to my supervisor and she didn't understand. Can't imagine me being shy, she said. Can't understand why it'd be hard for me, it should be easy.

I don't know, I shrugged, face down, because I DON'T know. I don't know why I can't. I have ideas. Overwhelming self-consciousness, shyness leftover from childhood, social anxiety, fear of being judged, of sounding stupid, of looking dumb OH-THE-HORROR. Who cares? It doesn't matter. People aren't thinking about you, judging you, and if they are, it really doesn't matter what they think.

I know all this. And it's still hard.