Here comes the sun. It feels like years since it's been here.

I knew my time perception was way off sync! Last I posted, I was under the impression that the ed board dinner and staff luncheon were a long way away. The day after was the dinner and the day after that was the luncheon! At that point, I still could not comprehend how free I was. Even with all the chaos with the newspaper, I feel terrible that it is gone. A part of my is running off to bigger and better things just waiting for me next fall, but a part of me wonders where time went. Time moves so quickly, and when it doesn't, everyone breaks their backs trying to get it to move faster and right out of their lives. Maybe this is why I sometimes miss the guru. The guru slows and even dulls time, so that moments last forever. Too bad the guru compromises a lot of things in order to allow for that to happen. No matter; now the semester is finally, truly, coming to a close and it is too late for any of us to do anything about it. It looks like the new semester will be quite promising, with anxious journalists pounding on our newsroom door to get their word out there and spread their passion across the page just as we do. Now is the time where I may rest my wings and figure out in which way I wish to bend the world.

Today my heart is still fluttering with anticipation and unspoken words, but perhaps before Christmas, I will be so calm as to actually move forward with my persuits. After all, all the butteflies he has given me could most likely enable me to fly, even if my proverbial wings are bent back in a resting position. Oh, lovely Christmas...filled with the joy I seek throughout the year and gain only for but a month or so, with no recolection of how to get it back after the holidays are over. I enjoyed a brisk trip to the mall all by myself after ed board today. Me being an intense social butterfly when I can made lovely conversation with the mall employees and even seemed to form a connection with one. And speaking of connections, there is one still so intense like a fire that I cannot seem to pull together. My nervous demeanor mixed with the all-too-lovely ambience of the winter and holiday time somehow clashes each and every time I lay my eyes on him, speak to him and get closer to him. Maybe this winter, Christmas time will bless me with enough courage to at least get a few words in so my heart won't be so wild with curiosity and worry. I always seem to be longing for a winter romance now. Something seems to be telling me that before the Christmas bells toll and before the winter air rolls away, I will have the chance to have what I want. On a silent evening in the chill in the midst of all the festive colors and songs, maybe there will be hope for me under the lights and stars of a long winter's day.

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.

And I'm hungry like the wolf (pt. 2)

The alarm buzzed at 6 a.m. and I was definitely not ready for breakfast. It took another hour, right when breakfast was being served across the street at the Titan Student Union way out in the middle of Cal State Fullerton. I slowly lifted out of my bed at the Marriott, with Suzy still lying on hers. I began to consider bypassing breaksfast entirely and just showing up for the presentation of which I had to attend to participate in my first competition of the day: news writing at 8:45 a.m.

I sat in some nervous stupor as we entered the Pavillion at about 8:30 a.m. I sipped my on my coffee and shifted around, searching for some fellow Union staff. I refused some sustinance and took part in some light-hearted pre-competition humor until the Pavillion doors opened and the Union made its way to the front. Throghout the speeches and the like, my fellow competitiors and I eagerly scribbled down every last word that was said in order to take it back to the competition rooms in the hopes to slay the competition. Journalism is a lot like that, you know. Once again I found myself in a chilly competition room and the countdown began. My story ended with three pages. My next competition was immediatly after: news judgment/page layout. I was certain this would not turn out well. After all, the only reason I was entering it was because my adviser wanted me to--right? Despite the fact that I had been reassured since the morning before that I would do well in this particular competition, there was not a bone in me ready to believe it just yet.

My EIC brought me a broadsheet layout dummy page. I began sketching and selecting stories in the hopes that my schooling was serving me well. My EIC finished first with only 10 minutes to go. When I was done, I had no idea what I was stepping into. Suzy had left somewhere on foot, leaving me waiting in anticipation over if we were going to make it back to the hotel in time to check out without them charging us for another night. It smelled oddly like some, as if all the stress-filled college students charged out the Titan Student Union doors to have a cigarette. I paced. Apparently, everyone could see me through the clear glass doors of the Pavillion area of the Titan Student Union. I got a text: "Stop pacing," it said. I stifled my laughter and continued to wonder where the smell was coming from.

"Are you lost, little girl?"
Shit! Now I was in for it!

Nevermind, it was only Ivan. But what we he doing there? A fire broke out on the hillside--two of them, as a matter of fact. He was up there taking pictures. It was still not visible from behind the larger building of Cal State Fullerton by the time Suzy called and told me to start heading back over to the hotel. Our room was on the fifth floor. We pulled aside the curtain to see what was out there as if we expected to see War of the World come to life before our eyes, right outside our window. What we did see was a wave of smoke created by two separate fires intercepting each other. One could barely see the flicker of yellow and orange in the midst of the terrible black abyss that was the smoke and ash rising from the hills. In little time, the rain of ash and smoke billowed over Cal State Fullerton and the Marriott. As soon as we stepped out to prepare to go back to the TSU, we felt a burn in our faces. It had only been a half hour since we had last been outside. This was a JACC we would not soon forget! When we arrived at the TSU, it did not appear strange, even as we made it into the Pavillion. After a bit, however, we noticed the atmosphere had a red glow about everything in its wake. We made it to one last lecture before it was time to getting ready with the smell of the fire creeping in from every crack and crevice despite all efforts to calm its effects. We didn't know it yet, but the sky was turning a fiery color and altered the state of the daytime light.

We walked back in the derious sunlight and began to prepare for the awards, determined to be the fanciest school there. We admired our awkward sun and burning red sky just a bit before entering the hotel again, with the daunting scratch and burn of the smoke wrapping around us. The sun sat high like a mighty, angered God ready to commense deforesation by means of incessent fire in order to rock us out of our competitive demeanor. We monopolized the bathrooms near the pool for our vanity until Suzy and I were ready to load everything back into Filip's car. We stopped by Starbucks, myself looking like an absolute loon to most considering the elegance of my dress. It was cool in there, but it did the trick at keeping the smell of smoke out. I did my part in America's unviersal jumping on the gun and got myself a Christmas drink, a venti at that, of which I took my sweet time consuming. There was a slideshow full of images crazy students took of the fire. Then the moment of truth. The Union came away with 20 awards by the end of the night. As for me--I took third place in broadsheet layout. Imagine that!

For the most part, there was a calm air about everyone. It was incredible that such a small staff prevailed so greatly. A staff of only five writers and only eight of the nine editorial board spots filled took on the competition and came away with an award in almost every catagory. We hopped on the 91, me encouraging Filip to race Miyu down the freeway. And there, long conversation ensued about practically everything. It was calming to sit back and watch the road go by, leaving the fires behind us, and calmly expressing what seemed like everything I could ever say. Finally, in what seemed like one heartbreaking moment, Filip and I arrived at my house. It was a moment in which I wished time could go backward and I could relive the entire weekend. Jouralism opened new doors to me that weekend and showed me how much higher than the clouds it was. It was meant to be--the people there were all my exact clones when it comes to personality. The ideas, the innovations, the conceptual prowess was all meant for me. Journalism was all mine that weekend. And with its comforts, as well as the comforts of my staff, I knew I was meant for it all. For the love of journalism.

And I'm hungry like the wolf (pt. 1)

Friday morning I was all ready for JACC with enough time to spare. With too much clothes in my suitcase and not enough money for the hotel in my wallet, I was off with a couple of friends. Soon enough, the payment for the hotel was done and over with and we were soon on the third floor of University Hall at Cal State Fullerton, looking over the buildings that even towered it. It was nice to see everyone together. Not to mention, that by lunch, we had already been such networking freaks that the student-worker at the Roundtable Pizza they have on campus gave us a free personal pizza. Not to mention, the girls who were there looked awesome.

It seems my whole day of workshops and walking back and forth from CSU Fullerton to the Marriott across the street lead up to my copy editing competition at 9 p.m. That is, after the welcome reception, in which we all met as a complete group for the last time away from the (sometimes) prison that is the newsroom. After the sports boys left for their competition--sports writers wrote about the Fullerton women's basketball game and the sports photographers took pictures--it was only two long hours to go until my competition. The room was cold and quiet, with nothing but the frantic rustling of people turning pages in their Stylebook. It was done. I was pretty confident, so after a satisfying dinner, I waited until midnight when my roommate came in from her critical review competition. There was still much stress in the air for the day to come, but now that I had been in competition mode, exposed to what the surroundings would be like--there was nothing to do but wake up ready to fight. For the love of journalism.

I'm sorry, but I'm just thinking of the right words to say

Everything went sour last night, or so it seems. I was on edge because of all the holes left on my page and 9 p.m. inevitably coming. I hissed once at the agitating business of what seemed like looking over my shoulder began. I would sooner have expected to be spanked or put in a time out before the night was done than to have any compliance with all of it--but I did. Because I care about the feelings of others far too much. I cannot help but see everyone as a distorted reflection of me. We may all be off in a myriad of ways, but everyone still feels and thinks, as do I. So I said nothing despite the eminent headache, which did pounce on me that night, although I did not act on it. Early on, I had massive amounts of coffee and everyone had the usual laugh--and yes, I am telling this story backward, I will flash forward soon. So there was that and a shakey jolt in my hands in an attempt to dull the onslaught I knew we were all in for. I took precautions for that, simple ones that I won't bother to mention. And maybe I shouldn't have smoked that cigarette earlier that day. At least someone cared to notice.

In any case, production night finally ended with a disgusting feeling of failure in my stomach. It was then in my humbling state that I took a moment to remember the morning. I have a good bunch of people on my side, even in the middle of my pained thoughts in which I seriously considered leaving next semester: A thought that continued well into this morning. There may not have been any phyiscal contact as I have been wishing from anyone since years ago, but that morning was quite calm, even in my frenzy to locate my writers and the articles they were writing. In my advanced pace and racing mind, I was hushed. I know it, because as I think about it, I could have very well destroyed anything that could be clenched in my hands, but I didn't. The morning was actually one of the last times I smiled the whole day. I understand that in my moments where I am completely uncollected, no female on this planet likes me, but I did not need approval from one group of people. I had my own, in a strange non-destructive way. I believe it's called self-esteem. I think butterflies have it. That is why they fly so freely and elegantly.

The night, that is, the one after the newspaper production, was one the likes of which I have not seen in a while. I believe it was freezing cold, but I did not notice. I was too content in my own endeavors and so immaculately impressed by other things that not even Mother Nature could speak to me. I just yammered on and on, most likely incoherently, much like I do in the confines of the newsroom, but this was different. I suppose every night is different for me, but I'm talking about a different kind of--well, different. This kind of different was the things I thought I understood years ago. It is the kind that made me realize the things I thought I wanted were only pieces of the puzzle and that I really wanted something entirely different, and that something had a good way of disguising itself as other things. This is the kind of different in which I noticed the stars and every little twinkle and glow, instead of just the sky. After the paper was out last night, I felt more like a human and less like a creature. It was one of those colder nights that still feel warm regardless. I think I finally know what I am doing.

Tomorrow is JACC. I will be writing, as I assume I will be feeling, seeing and thinking more than usual. Last night and yesterday morning are things that come by so quickly, but will transcend the days to come. I owe a lot of it to particular people. They will recieve much from me in all forms henceforth. I am following the course.

Marching on 'til victory, we fight!

Oh, life. What a battlefield it is. Thus far, I have noticed that everything going on at the moment is, in essence, a brawl. Everything we could ever want is everything worth fighting for. Truth is, humans being the way we are, crave a good throwdown. Whether we are pacifists or aggressors--or not--we are bloodthirsty. Sounds contradictory, but it's not. Of course, this realization I found, comes in literal terms first and once geared for war, we start to see an epic and savage battle before us at all stages. I can hear hearts pounding. Let me commence with the adrenaline rush.

It started with the ANRA finals. It was a big pull to Bakersfield early last Saturday, with an eerie absence of cars all along the 110 freeway (and by the way, might I emphasize that California is entirely awesome because in class, to describe most phenomenon or drive a point home, we get references to major freeways because that's what most of us can relate to). I stayed up due to my stubbor desire to watch the sunrise whenever I'm up that early to make my way to a drag race. The dragster, now marked with the number "1" to show just how astoundingly my dad conquered the Nostalgia Eliminator I class from 2002-2007, had a horrible 2008 season. With the altercations to the engine being made, we encountered an influx of gremlins which devastated its performance and brought it nothing but bad luck for all races previous, putting my dad out of the running for champion this year. After the Hot Rod Reunion looked promising, my dad, uncle and grandfather took helm and really became enthused after it seemed all remaining problems were an easy fix. For time trials this race, an experiment was conducted, with the question being: What exactly needs to be done and how much nitro do we need once corrections are made?

The engine was properly fixed and at the thrid time trial, with a 7.57 under our belt, we ran 47 percent nitro all weekend. Despite it going over the index, a racer knows how much time is needed to slow that monster down to run right on the dot, which is what my dad did. Twice. In a row. 7.60 first round and 7.60 second round. The last few rounds were no far cry either with 7.62 third round and a 7.61 final round. Seeing my dad reclaim is glory in but one race made my heart rabid with excitement and let me know he would live up to his wonderful nickname "The Terror" once again. The spark of life is burning again. The fire still burns!

Similarly, human affection and relations take quite the struggle as well. Anthony, my ex, not exactly being suitable and hardly ever the affectionate-type--with me anyway--is no longer my idea of a boyfriend, and thus forces me to say I have not been the subject for physical attention (or emotional at that!) for about three years now. I had my eye on someone, as easily noted by many of my peers, but therein lied a problem most resembling mood swings, without the violence. Even still, the blows to my heart undoubtedly left a bruise or two. I know it was unintentional, but after intensely laboring under this person's looming shadow of a woman still longed for (that is, I was there and probably wanted--but there was another woman from his past that he probably wanted more than me). Eventually, I dropped to my knees--and stupidly, I still dragged them for quite some time. Little did I know, a day would come where the final blow would knock me out, and when I awoke, I'd be on a boat elsewhere. To put it simply, an anniversary, a beautiful memory or "your" song is amazing beyond words, but not when you're no longer with the person and the person who cares for you now is sitting on the other end of it, listening to your hapless woes.

I was amiss about my duties until I stepped in the newsroom and saw my blank pages open on my desktop. "...right now, you need to focus. Sit, calm down and do your pages. It will be ok." It was then I realized that if friends/co-workers had to lay their hand on my shoulder and referee these little heartbreaks when they weren't even directly involved, that it was getting too chaotic to continue on with them. I do wish I could have waited longer because the anonymous man in question is still intelligent, kind and quite a friend--but my beating heart could no longer take it and the underhanded "rejection" (which probably wasn't really rejection, but that is what it always felt like) was sending me into the ground. Maybe someday that path could lead somewhere, but at the moment, I was in a dark patch of woods; I needed a new road to go down. I felt down on my luck, and suddenly, I am still picking up my feet and following someone new. I finally feel that light and ethereal feeling I felt when I first started liking the anonymous man--and to my surprise, it really does feel great. I suppose I had just forgotten how it's really supposed to feel. Even in my casual, normal worries of losing this one, I have this vigorousness like that of a wolf, ready to sprint and spring on any possible enemies lurking in my territory, and I'm willing to sever any shortcomings before they bloom. If I were to look within my heart in a literal sense, I think I would be amazed at how it is still so vibrant and how its temerity is serving it a wonderful justice. I suppose I have learned how to tend to my heart, soul and spirit properly. Maybe with the pain I recieved, I was giving it reasons to be as it was. The fire still burns!

My current quest is that of my college newspaper. Upon us is JACC, Journalism Association of Community Colleges, a state competition in which we put out the greatest newspaper possible, making sure that no matter how heavily we bleed all over this paper, it comes up clean and perfect for the judges. Lovely? Why, yes, it is.

The issue comes out next Thursday and already I am embedded in stress and turmoil. Monday is my first deadline for pages--as I am news editor now, and boy was tears and hair-pulling not what I signed up for. Despite a miniscule staff, we have pulled out six issues so far. I should be proud, and believe you me, I am, but last issue was the greatest disaster than perhaps the San Francisco fire. Not to downplay a tragedy, but I say so to show just how terrible and sickly our publication looked last week. Lucky us that wasn't the JACC issue, because if it was, we would be in a world of hell at the competition. Things like that don't make for award-winning papers. It was a collaborative failure on everyone's behalf. I don't have much to say about this issue, which is a horrible thing! I should have lots to talk about--as in, which stories turned out well and which were terrible. But I only have one story in. And yet, I am passionately putting my hands in a plateau of great danger without a care in the world. Give me competition, and I am a wild animal in a race for some raw meat to tear through. I may have been in submission after the issue previous, but I will seek and destroy if I must to be able to commandingly put my foot down on the skulls of others in animalistic euphoria over victory along with my fellow editors. It seems like we are doomed if you were to see it at face-value, but I have never known the Union staff to turn over and die. The fire still burns!