Snow is falling in huge wet flakes that instantly turn to slush on the ground. I finally got a good night’s sleep. I had a dream that wasn’t bad – the first in months. I ate a decent lunch: pasta with green pepper and mushroom red sauce to which I added basil and shredded gouda.
I don’t feel happy, but I feel OK. Just blah rather than miserable. It’s a start. I want to write some fiction, but currently have no story ideas. I need to be working on my nonfiction; my first essay is due Thursday.
I also need to be eavesdropping, but I really don’t want to. We are doing an assignment on dialogue for Advanced Writing. I am supposed to go to the gym and listen in on people’s conversations. I’m supposed to convince them to let me do this and to give me their names because I’m a journalist. I guess the journalist title gives me some privileges that I am none too eager to use. But Berkeley thinks it’s a great idea. Just let me go back to the cave, that sounds much better. It could be worse. Some poor kid got assigned the funeral home. He’s already attended one stranger’s funeral uninvited and is now working on going to a visitation and burial. I think I would be a consciencious objector if that were my assignment.
Perhaps I’m just not curious and nosy enough to be a truly good journalist. Reporting is always the worst part. I just want to write. This is one of my least favorite reporting assignments to date. The worst was for the Missourian, going to the house of a dead motorcycle accident victim to try and talk to someone who knew him. Luckily, no one was home. Maybe if I’d done that, this would be easier.