I keep waiting, anticipating you.

And so it ended. Just like that on windy and cold Wednesday night, although I didn't realize it much. I knew of it; I was plenty aware, but all I wanted was nothing more than to come home and wash it all off. Then the next day, a lovely Thursday morning, after pleseantly being able to leave class early and sit in a lonely newsroom, save for Filip and Tony to eventually follow, I knew it was really over. The last issue of the semester was officially behind us. The usual "The End is Near" notice with the remaining days all planned out as if we were going to be shipped off was taped on to every available wall in the newsroom. The hell and stress that was the smallest staff we ever weathered was done. Completely done.

The days coming were a bit of a load of stress, dampering my good mood, but suddenly, the Tuesday before Thanksgiving break came. I masterfully defeated my tests--of which I had three of (yes, one for each of the classes I take on Tuesdays and Thursdays) and I was home. I barely remember the week at all after the paper was done. It appears I have centered and kept track of my whole life based solely on the paper. Somehow, like a sundial, despite confusion that may come of it, I knew exactly how to read it the entire time and therefore was able to take hold of it as well as the rest of my life. And yet, sometimes it feels empty, as if the paper was the only clock I had to remind me of my week, what day it was, what time it was and the future to come. Still, I do have a sense of direction that has its focus on the final events this particular Union staff will face: the ed board dinner and the staff luncheon. This is the official good-bye of the semester. Strange how it always comes about a week before the true end of the semester, but nonetheless, once it's over, we will all begin shutting down until the dawn of a new staff and a new semester.

As for everything else, it feels like it hurts even though I know it doesn't. My heart cries, the stress burns and sometimes I long for a little comfort, preferably the human-type who can relieve my loneliness. Perhaps sometime before the semester ends I will feel this sort of fulfillment--in fact, I know I will. With every milestone this newspaper goes through, the feeling always resurges. Forever will I know why journalism is worth it to me. I understand that my time perception is terribly off because of the lack any more upcomming issues and nothing but finals to dull and desensitize me, but I do hope that I will still be able to skillfully play my hand and lay my cards down so carefully that I may be indulged at my whim. Perhaps I will gain more confidence in one adrenaline-induced moment. Alas, more confidence--how strange for a journalist to say! But honestly, it seems along the lines of the norm for the end of the semester to feel that sort of energy rushing at you as if you never had it before. After all, the anxiousness of it all is ensuring I will not be able to hold myself down much longer. It's time to jump.