Leave me alone. I'm in next week.

At 2.30 am we closed an issue. I was home by 2.45. I couldnt sleep till 6 am. I saw light outside and willed myself to sleep. At that point I was full of pleased-with-myself-ness because despite all my slackness over the weekend the cover story had come together very nicely. I woke at 10 am still pleased with myself. At 4.00 we had a meeting to plan the next issue. At 6.30 pm I was back home with that familiar hollow feeling about next week and the next issue.

This is how I will grow old. This is how the years will pass. This is how journalists become drunks and addicts and desperate for intimacy. This is how people become journalists because of the need to keep doing the same thing over and over again. The compulsion to do an inexplicable thing, ask people things, tell people things. A year down the line it still seems inexplicable.


poor little chasing iamb... you need a bombay break!

October 9, 2008 at 12:10 AM  

It made me get a hollow feeling in the stomach.

October 9, 2008 at 12:24 PM  

i plan to watch grey's anatomy all day and then be shocked tomorrow t work when everyone is not sneaking off into the closet to have sex

October 9, 2008 at 5:34 PM  

This sounds horribly familiar - the Sisyphus-like life of a journalist, not sex in a closet. Are you reaching the point where it actually makes you happy in some bizarre way? Because once that happens, it's all over; you're decidedly doomed. If you haven't got to that point, then run child! You can still escape!

October 11, 2008 at 2:17 AM  

anon, its too late I think. sur,you are right, i am due a bombay pick-me-up.

October 12, 2008 at 6:43 PM  

Dude. Thanks. I feel fantastic about being a journalist now. Heh.
But well said. You're right. It's a Sunday night and I feel the familiar pang of sadness that the weekend is now over - only I never had one.

October 12, 2008 at 11:13 PM  

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