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While that's how Saturday nights go here for a lot of seniors, it always hurts the most for me the next morning. I've been showing up to Hatchet staff meetings Sundays at noon head pounding, hair in knots and feeling like I was going to vomit for the last hundred or so of my weekends in college.
Since I became an editor, Sundays (and sometimes Wednesdays) have been centered around survival. They've been days of trying to hold my food down while simultaneously trying to put out a newspaper.
But even after editing stories, calling reporters, figuring out how to get a photo, writing headlines, proofreading and helping make sure it all looks good on the page while also battling a massive hangover, I always leave the office Sunday nights after production with a strange sense of satisfaction. I smile to myself on the walk back to my dorm, I guess because by doing my part to help put out tomorrow's paper I feel like I am making a difference.
Maybe it's not as big a difference as I imagine it. Maybe only a handful of people turn to the Life section Monday mornings to read thoughtful trend pieces or intriguing student profiles or find out who "Eve" had sex with last.
But even if that's the case I would still be satisfied. I think it's the same with most journalists - they are trying to tell stories that shed light on a larger truth and have an impact on someone, even if it's just one person.
I got into journalism because my history professor in the ninth grade was trying to build up the program and noticed I could write a coherent sentence. I don't think I'd ever picked up a newspaper or turned on the news before then - I was a self-centered high school student who cared more about who I sat next to in the cafeteria than what was going on in the world.
But my mom made me join. She told me you don't pass up experiences like that and I should be honored my teacher thought I was a good writer.
