“What am I doing? I could be in Cambodia learning Khmer right now! I don’t know what I’m doing! I’m a sports editor; give me a box score or a game recap and I’m good to go. But what the heck is a ‘Trello’?”The doubts creep into my fragile and oft perplexed mind leaving me a whimpering, blubbering mess curled up in the fetal position.
As I attempt to pick myself up off the floor, I realize I need to use the restroom.
After giving myself a quick tour of the Hub, I soon realize my home for the next 12 or so Wednesdays does not, to my great dismay, have a restroom of its own, forcing me to walk the agonizing 10 steps to the Rott.
The snow outside brightens my spirits and as my heart is filled with joy I launch into a hearty and rousing rendition of “Let It Go” as I stroll along during my return trip from the Rott.
My serenade is cut short by a sneaky piece of ice waiting to trip me up and cause me to land on my already sore knee.
As I attempt to pick myself up off the ground I’m again beginning to wonder what on earth I am doing?
A train begins going by slowly and I think to myself, “I could hop on that train and they would never know where I went, and I’d be freeeeeee!”
But alas, the train is short and moves on its way, leaving my dreams as shattered as the piece of ice I fell upon.
At this point my brain is my own worst enemy (that’s normal) as it tries to convince me off all the ways I can mess up the Record this semester.
Fortunately, my brain switches gears as I enter the Hub hear people discussing boy bands. Naturally I declare my stance that N’SYNC is always the way to go, leaving the room nodding in agreement and wonder about how knowledgeable and cool I am.
Unfortunately, I am brought back to reality by a new crisis, I have a paper due tomorrow at 8:00 a.m.
I silently hold a grudge against John Roth for breaking my Cal Ripken-like streak of avoiding 8:00 a.m. classes while trying to remember what I’m supposed to right my paper on and if I even have the proper materials to do so.
Fortunately,IdosoIcangoback to freaking out about the Record.
The night progresses largely without being on the verge of a total collapse when I see the picture being used for the editorial written by my co-editor and myself.
To my horror I realize I look like a total dork (more so than usual) while my suave and sophisticated co-editor looks dapper.
An inconsiderate colleague takes a shot at the Chicago Cubs shirt I am wearing in the picture saying that the shirt is what brings the picture down.
I politely inform her that she is wrong and my Cubs shirt is what makes the photo so publishable.
As I prepare to leave the Hub after a night of exciting (terrifying) learning experience, I emerge from the Hub like a majestic butterfly out of its cocoon, ready to face the world.
But as I begin my trek home I remember I still have to write a paper and who knows what crisis awaits my immediate solving at Howell.