99 problems but this pitch ain't one.

Tomorrow's my last ever day of school ever. It promises to be a calm one in the newsroom.

I'm just glad I passed. That "D" is not my grade (although it's probably damn close); it's my reporting/editing professor's initial. He scribbled this on a blank sheet of tabloid paper and propped it up on my chair when I went down to the broadcast semester's studio. 

This is going up next to the diploma.

One of us does that each week, you know, look in the camera and read the scrolling words we wrote and try to stand up straight while you tell people watching (nobody except us) what's online and in the next issue in 45 seconds at the end of their daily live news show. 

Take an extra second to slow down, get it right, write it out, let your edits breathe. Find the rhythm of your story. Watch the visual grammar of your story structure; that matters too.
Remember that there are many other people and many other things in the world other than the boys you get preoccupied with. With whom you get preoccupied, sorry. Always protect the grammar. It needs your help.
I want to remember all of that.

We the students are having a keg party at one of our apartments (not it) tomorrow night to celebrate our triumph. I'm just glad I passed. I've never been to a keg party, but I like all the other people who are going and hell, don't have to wake up any sort of early on Tuesday.

No produndities, dear reader. Just an ending. I'm ready to get out of here.