In the past 7 days.
I’ve felt every.
I’ll only speak of one of them.
A few weeks ago, I really wanted to do a story on the 5 Browns. They’ll be in Logan tomorrow, playing a sold-out show that I didn’t get tickets to. Bitter? Yes. Even though it was my own fault.
I got the assignment, set up an interview and life is looking quite peachy. Then, their parents drove off a cliff. I’m not making light of that. Every time I got a news update, my heart broke a little. The siblings are still in my thoughts and prayers.
It’s a Thursday, and a few days have passed since the incident, although they’re still all over national news. Even the Times picked it up. I knew I wasn’t going to get the interview, but I figured I’d e-mail their manager just in case. He gave me this strange thing resembling hope. Looking back on it, I wish he would have just told me I wasn’t going to get it. I waited out the long weekend, thinking that I would could still live out my dream of interviewing the Browns. It’s something that I had wanted since I read their biography, which by the way, is excellent.
I shouldn’t have sat around all weekend. Not literally, I was busy with ASUSU election stuff, but article wise. Even though everything was stacked against me, I wanted the interview so badly, I just assumed I would get it.
Monday, about 3:00 got a phone call. Nope, didn’t get it. From this point on just imagine me frantically trying to get interviews, e-mailing, calling, everything. No responses and I don’t blame them.
Tuesday night. I have a deadline the next day, but I’m at a loss. So I sit on my bed and eat tapioca pudding.
Wednesday morning. I haven’t missed a deadline because of my own stupidity all year. Wednesday is my busiest day of the week, and I have a deadline at 4:00. I hate myself for about an hour. I go to four of my classes, stress out. Take a midterm. Feel like a lost and confused puppy.
Around 1:30, something hits me. I don’t know what, but I know that somehow, someway, this article is going to get done.
I drive to the Theater where I’ve called and e-mailed multiple times. The doors are locked, and I’m starting to feel discouraged again. I walk into the ticket office next door, where a woman half my size stares me down until I tell her what I want. She takes me to a weird little office, where I meet the programming director AND the man who won’t respond to my calls or e-mails.
Get the interviews, rush home. Finish half the article. Go to primary voting announcements. Come back. Finish the article.
I pulled together an entire story in three hours. Even though my procrastination is nothing to be proud of, I was pretty giddy.
I can’t wait to write news.
I should mention, while I’m at it that if I adored the 5 Browns before, I idolize them now. They are incredible, in more ways than one.
(Excuse all the tense switching. I’m not a good writer today)