Don't give me daylight if there's going to be a solar eclipse five minutes later. Don't give me hope if you're only going to disappoint me in the end.
Journalism is such a haphazard occupation. You really don't know whether you've hit the jackpot or if you're being bamboozled. So much of your livelihood hinges on the whims of your subject. If they clam up and start making you sweat bullets, there's no turning back. And what you're left with is pieces that you try to stitch together to make somewhat of a coherent story.
Not a very fun experience. I don't know where I read it, but I hear journalists rank very low in the realm of prestigious occupations. Guess we really haven't recovered from all the muckraking back in the 20th century. Hell, I still wouldn't trust any of today's journalists, especially when twitter and blogs have increasingly become the face of "journalism."
It's certainly a very special feeling. Feels quite like death. You deny, hope it isn't true, but in your heart, you've already accepted it. The feeling of being screwed over. Royally. I'm left in a situation that can only be described as "fucked." But I'm a scrambler. Somehow, I could pull shiny nuggets of gold from the deepest and darkest pits of despair.
There's a simmering rage in my heart. Being screwed over isn't a pleasant experience. It sucks. It sucks balls. Huge hairy balls. I don't explode. Usually I can think myself in circles long enough to blunt the impact. Blunting can only do so much. I guess this is where the magic happens. Crunch time and pressure. How well can you operate with the weight of the world on your shoulders? This is the time for action, quick-thinking and solutions, not lamentations, moaning, and wailing. We are in the business of doing things, doing good things, and doing things good (well).
When it comes to reporting, you always gotta strike a delicate balance. If you're not in their grill, its easy for them to brush you off. Reporting over the internet is an enterprise that nobody should bother with. No verification, no consistency, we're not even in the same timezones. I'm so pissed that I question my ability to report. Only one interview, granted, it was like a four-hour interview but c'mon! We all know reporting takes more than four hours! While I'm besieged by the ghosts of stress, my subject is off dawdling over whatever the hell. I'm sitting with my thumbs up my ass waiting for a response that never comes.
Could I blame her? Do I appear like a stalker dressed up as student reporter trying to learn the ropes of my profession? The most futile endeavor is trying to convince somebody something that they believe without question to be false (insert joke about religion here). I don't think many people have the experience of trying to explain that they are not weirdos and stalkers but the sad reality is, to be an effective reporter, you got to crank up the stalker skills and amp the weirdo factor. Only curious mofos get all the info.
So while I'm off in a mad dash to concoct something that isn't entirely false, she's probably wiping her brow and patting herself on the back for successfully eluding an online rapist. I only need to talk to her one more time, preferably before the end of the next week (deadline and all that). Is it seriously too much to ask for just one miserable little response, just to make sure she wasn't all in my head? Just one fucking interview and then we can all get on with our lives.
By the grace of all that is divine, I hope that I pull this one out. Alternatively, if I don't, then I hope karma will screw her -- in the most painful way possible please.
