Year in J-School (Part 17)–No Sleep November

I haven’t gotten a full night of sleep in, oh, two weeks? Not good. It’s the end of the semester and all my RW1 stuff is due, including a 5,000-word enterprise piece which is not going to smoothly and a brief on the Rikers Island fight club that the D.A. won’t talk to me about AND my master’s project.

I’m living off coffee, Progresso canned soup, hopes, dreams and a moderate amount of tears.

I need a hug. Or a nap. But there’s no time for either.

I’m sitting in a Dunkin Donuts in the Bronx typing this as I inhale coffee and a bagel–the first thing I’ve eaten since 6 p.m. yesterday. All of my schedules are out of whack…sleeping, eating…I’m too stressed to do anything except worry about school and stay awake all night freaking out.

I love school. I’m learning a lot, but is it May yet?

Thursday I had an interview with Village Voice Media. I think it went well but it was one of those things where I’m just not sure. I wish I had been able to be myself more but I was just so nervous. I threw up in the 6th floor J-School bathroom before and had to run across the street to get gum–that’s how nervous I was. Fail moment. All I can do now is kick butt in school and hope for the best.

Saturday I actually went out and had fun! The Next Great Generation had their 1st birthday party at Opal on the Upper East Side which turned into drinks at Angels and Kings and then Karaoke at Planet Rose in the East Village. It was nice to finally meet these people outside of their Twitter handles, gmail addresses and Facebook photos. I had so much fun it felt like I was back in undergrad acting like a kid again. I woke up regretting spending $60 (a large percentage of my personal assets) but in all honesty $60 is not bad for a three-bar night out in the City and I had so much fun it was worth it. It was nice to spend several hours not being stressed.

As soon as I finish my coffee I’m going to visit a mosque in Parkchester to see if I can get some interviews and then I’m going to sit in the lobby of a community leader’s office scrawling the first few paragraphs of my story out by hand while waiting for him to see me.  The most stressful part of journalism is the waiting. Maybe I’m too impatient for this profession?

“Good things come to those who wait”—?

Well, I’m staring at the bottom of an empty coffee cup. Back on the reporting trail. Wish me luck!


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