Don't let them see you cry.

The good:

1. My editing professor thinks my writing's editable. That's a compliment.
2. One more day of spot news coverage, aka Go Get a Story and Audio and Pictures and Multimedia Oh Yeah and Your Lead Source's Liver and/or Second Born, Preferably Both for Verification, and Make Sure It's All Perfect and Posted in about 12 hours. And for my finale, I get to cover a gaming con. 
3. Michael finally settled the air with Suitemate. 
4. I saw Cape this evening, when I was emerging from the newsroom and he was waiting to descend for his Psych 101 class. (Remember the notes I lent him last semester? Yeah, didn't help.)
   Sometimes I wonder why I'm attracted to people with weird hair. And paint on their fingers. And guys who wear cargo shorts. Must be that shocking length of shapely calf emerging after the winter frost.
   We talked, and--I don't know why something ordinary like pleasant conversation feels so good. Even just describing it like that makes it sound cheesy. 
5. After dinner, I got an impromptu guitar lesson from a guy who was playing near where I sat down to eat in the student union. We ended up talking about music and theory (that was mostly him, showing me how chords move around on the fretboard) and high school band and our majors for about an hour and a half. We exchanged email addresses. He wants to start a guitar club. 

The bad:

1. My dad thinks I don't write like a newspaper writer and that that's a bad thing. And he called me to tell me when I was on my way to report a, you know, newspaper-like story. When my editing professor, who earns his own Jaws-based theme song when he comes cruising the newsroom, does less damage to my ego than my dad does, I have to go cry in a bathroom stall for five minutes or so.
2. Spot news = 12 hour days during which I can't get other shit done. I'm still sore from yesterday's excursion.
3. She cried. A lot. Plus, now we all know how we feel about each other and we're still all lonely bastards.
4. I saw BF in his car again as I walked away.
   Cape can't go to the movie tomorrow.
5. Guitar Club would pause every few minutes to spit out chewing tobacco into a clear plastic water bottle. He did apologize for that, though.
   I smelled like a day of researching in the newsroom: baked sweat and dust.

Condescending question of the day: "Do you know Jimmi Hendrix?"
...No. No, dude, I have no idea who you're talking about. <heavy, heavy, blink-tastic sarcasm>
Random editing teacher outburst of the week so far: "Can someone tell me why the TV's not on? How will we know if there's a fire, down here?"
The sad part is he's right. We would have no idea until we start roasting like Kenny Roger's chicken.