thanks for the memories tho

I'm trying really hard to be a sports writer. But I just can't seem to get the angles right. It isn't about reporting the game. Any other reporter can do that. I'm supposed to be able to see the game, see the sport or the event in a way that's different from everyone else. Produce something that hasn't already been reproduced by thousands others in every other publication circulating the island.

I'm trying. I just can't seem to get it. And the one thing I fear most is that at the end of it, instead of learning something I end up with nothing. Sometimes I can see it, that little sliver of an idea that I ferret out. But most times it's as if my mind's an utter blank and I find myself drawing circles every so often instead of coming up with something brilliant. That makes the readers want to flip through every page, back and again.

It's the words. Yes. But it's about the ideas, the logic, the schematics, that thing that I should be seeing that'll keep them glued to these slick CMYK-toned pages.

Fuck la. I'm getting more disappointed in myself with every article that I write. Terribly disillusioned. I thought a piece I wrote was good, by my standards. That it'd be something the editor would nod his head and tell me that yes, I got it. But when I re-read them, each and everyone one of them, I find myself frowning and cringing in embarassment and shame. Was this what I went to school for? To come up with crap and shit that even an untrained 11-year-old could do? Hell, even better than I would.

It's like singing.

And it feels as if I'm giving up. But I can't. I need to find it within myself, uncover this sight, this ability. I need to find someone, talk to someone who sees it, who can help me uncover it, who can help me master it. Yeah, and only in times like these I wish that maybe I was Sylar so I can rip the heads open of famed sports writers and see how everything ticks and clicks.

Sick.

Fatigue and erratic moodswings are not my friends.

Tonight I plan to forget the week's misery. Work misery. I have to be up at the near crack of dawn on Sunday and head down to catch some duathlon. There's still that inherent fear of talking to people, coming up to them and interviewing them. I don't know what to say. I don't want to say the same things that's been repeated and rehashed by every other journalist out there. I need something new. I need to get on that level, connect with them on a level that's not professional. Nor is it physical (for gutter-minded people out there). So much for having played sports.

I know nothing. I am nothing. And it's just so so so hard.