You can't hear me, but I'm breathing again. It's 11:30 and I'm exhausted, but my head is well above water and I've been laughing. In fact, during Press Pass today I giggled and fell into a laughing fit while we were on the air. That wasn't so good, but luckily everyone was in a good mood and so it wasn't a big deal. I had good news today, even though poor Bear was having a hell of a day; we always seem to operate on opposite ends of the spectrum. In relatively old news, I got an A- on that horrific fiction midterm I had been stressing over a few weeks ago. It was no brilliant work, and the professor said so, but it was to the point, accurate, and mentioned all the important stuff and that was merit enough for an A. I also got an A- on a story in my journalism news writing class, which came as a huge surprise to me since I had turned in the article 20 minutes after deadline (unless he meant 12am?). So I was very happy about that. On the other hand, I'm really doing lousy in my government class-it's so awful and the lectures are so boring! I've realized that I just don't do well in lecture halls. I need intimacy. Today was a little weird. I missed out on my journalism class to spend two hours doing interviews for spring internships. They went well and I guess I'll find out if I've landed one in a few weeks... I've got a shorty story and one-act play in the works; I believe I've mentioned this. I only bring it up again as a segway. You see, for a long time now I've let myself believe that I've lost my ability to write creatively. But I realized today--watching the production of a play, actually--that I was wrong. Because during that play, in one distinct moment, I took what was relaying before my eyes and sorted it through my brain and formed an idea that fit perfectly into my story. For the non-writers, you're probably not amazed. So let me explain in brief that a writer never stops writing. When the notebook is closed or the writer is away from the computer, he still hasn't stopped writing. To be able to pull from life something useful and valuable to a story is natural, and for me, has been a rare entity for quite some time. But I've been doing it. For weeks now I've been pulling little (or big) things from the things around me or going on in my life and I've morphed them into creative writing. I am still unsettled with a few things, still not completely content again, but at least with my hobbies and passions I feel right again. For the moment.