the navel times and observer

Yeah right.

I hate getting in from a 11-hour day. Another 11-hour day. I hate it because every time I come home after 11 hours either in the office or at some meeting or out in the field I'm never happy about it.

After all my place is a mess, I'm as alone as I was when my last relationship ended three months ago, I've gained a lot of weight, I can't seem to do my damn job right and I'm not happy about any of it.

I just want it to fade off into some hole somewhere. Some drain. I'm sick of it.

So far this week I topped off Monday with two hours at a city council meeting, Tuesday was the better part of an hour at a school library for a story that's nowhere near done, Wednesday was staying in at the office to put together a hot story. Tonight was another late night pulling together another hot story.

I'm not alone in this. I know there are reporters, some of them I know intimately well, who put up with a lot worse shit than I do. Frankly she does it all and on top of that is a much better reporter than I could hope to be. Honestly I don' tknow how I got here and I don't know how I've managed to stay here this long unless either somebody really likes me or someone really hates me and is running me into walls like a sadistic child with a marionette. I feel like I'm held up by luck, it's the only reason I got to where I am right now.

I just hate this. I hate getting myself worked up and then getting myself worked up again the next day. I've always had this issue. It's been part of me since high school and I've never been able to shake it.

Aside from my other fantastic reporter friends I can't help but look at some of the people I talk to in my day and wonder if they're as hung up about their jobs as I am about mine.

After all I can't be alone.