Week Two

My desk at work is already messy.

My room, despite my best efforts, is deteriorating into its usual chaotic and filth-ridden state.

I can’t think of words in English or Spanish anymore. I think I have early onset Alzheimer’s. It runs in the family. It took me three minutes to figure out that I wanted to say deteriorate. If looked it up in dictionary, I’d probably realize I’m using it incorrectly.

Spanish AP style is messing with my brain. Will I ever be able to decide whether a punctuation point goes inside or outside of a quotation mark again?

AP Style, MLA Style, APA style, Spanish style. Fuck it. I panic every time I have to insert a comma. Sometimes you need them, sometimes you don’t. It all depends on what style you’re writing in. If I put style in quotation marks, would that be unnecessary? Probably.

I’ve been cranking out dailies and been chastised for not having story ideas. It’s rather limiting to only be able to report on Hispanic issues. I’ve pitched a couple story ideas, but some have been rejected because the area of town I proposed reporting on is not predominantly Hispanic.

I still like Big D despite missing D.C. something terrible now that D.C. is the bureau’s newest intern. Only today I was comparing the DMN’s diner with the California Grill next door to 1090 Vermont. I used to dine at Cosi, Tryst, Open City and Mr. Chen’s Organic Chinese. I too used to ride the red line to Farragut North and Woodley Park. Ah, D.C. How I was so lucky to be there, but I threw it all away. Today I erased something I had recorded from a press conference held by Senator Biden. SENATOR BIDEN, people! Senator Biden. He attempted to run for president, you know? That’s a big fucking deal. CNN was even talking about Biden being the possible choice for VP for Obama. I sat no more than 10 feet away from him inside Dirksen.

For my assignment today I had to go to an editorial board meeting with the Bishop of Big D. I was sitting with all the big shots of the paper. It was so incredibly intimidating. The fourth flour of the building is a different world entirely. The story I wrote was disappointing considering it was completely rewritten. I hate it when that happens. It’s so demoralizing. The editor told me that I did my job as a reporter though. I guess I never thought of it that way. It was my job to report, his job to make the final product whichever way he saw fit.

I’ve also joined the fit club at work on whim. I must lose weight or I will I bring the entire second floor of the DMN down with me. It’ a competition and I’ve been teamed with everyone who works on that floor.

What else?

There was also a fire drill today late in the afternoon. This one reporter yelled out “I’m on deadline!”

He’d rather burst into flames if only it means that he got his story in on time. Too funny.