Monday, December 12, 2005
Tonight was December 12, 2005. And it sucked.
It's official: tonight was one of the worst nights of my life.I should have gotten the hint when I saw two fellow writers crying in the office, trying futilely to complete their assignments. They wouldn't say what they were crying about, so I respected their privacy and shut myself up. But, depression and sadness are contagious, in the same way happiness is.
I walked from the UPLB Perspective office to our Editor-in-Chief's house to get an article draft. Long story, but basically I was sweaty from running back and forth CPark looking for the people I was with, because I was stupid enough not to ask them where we were supposed to meet after I took a detour to the dorm to pick a USB disk up.
When we finally arrived at the EIC's house, I hurriedly searched through the piles of paper only to find out in the end that the draft wasn't there. I went all the way to the house just to print two pages of unedited article (damn, I could've done it back in the office, mas malapit pa.)
I wanted to get all this behind me as soon as possible, so I walked back to the office, when the rain decided it wanted to smother me with all its existence, starting with a drizzle that turned into real rain when I was nearing the SU Building. Good thing I at least had an umbrella with me...
... an umbrella whose handle was so brittle that it snapped off the first time I flicked the water off it. A BRAND-FUCKING-NEW UMBRELLA! Damn Divisoria ripoff.
The moment I entered the SU Lobby, an editor came up to me and asked me to continue the article draft they said they scrapped just a few minutes before. And I thought I had less business to attend to. Talk about disillusionment.
I went up to the office, looking for someone to join and maybe talk to over dinner. Turned out all the others had already eaten, and here I was, dizzy with hunger, looking for a companion because I just didn't feel like eating alone.
Finally, my two fellow Culture writers agreed to join me, and since there were few restaurants left open (it was almost 10PM) I decided to grab something at McDo, since anything farther would have left me fainting of hunger (I ate lunch at 11:30AM that day).
The worst part: over dinner, all we could talk about were the staff's desires to leave Perspective, that there was so much more we could accomplish (as students, and more importantly, as UPLB freshmen, something we weren't going to be in a year or two) if we left, that though we acknowledge the fact that our editors are less-than-perfect people, their editing manner, in this depressed writer's opinion, is what hinders us most from being much better writers, that what they are often doing is not editing, but imposing their own thoughts on somebody's written work, which mutates it into a confusing jumble of facts and ideas that the in the end the writer may even stop believing in what he/she wrote.
And since people are not allowed to use the computer in the EIC's house (they're doing the layout for an issue I even doubt will be released), here I am, a wasted and sleep-deprived zombie (yet again), typing nothing but bits and pieces of frustrated ranting.
(Forgive me for writing all this, I just had to get it all out of my system.)
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