Well, it’s my senior year and I’m still writing for this newspaper. You don’t understand, I’ve given three years of my life to The Current, and for what? The title of Editor in Chief? Pfft. Okay Mrs. Confino, that’s a real funny joke you got there.

Being Editor in Chief is something Alisha and I weren’t expecting (In case ya didn’t know, it’s Catherisa here). We’ve literally spent our entire newspaper career staring at a computer screen watching videos of pandas being weird, and now you expect us to be in charge all of a sudden? What?

We clearly aren’t ready for this Editor in Chief thing. I’m pretty sure this job includes training newbies and editing articles, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. Like, they’re pretty much better writers than me already, so what do I have to train them for?

This whole online thing doesn’t help either. All these assignments. All these deadlines. All these edits. It’s enough to make a person go mad and eventually just turn into a writing machine that might never stop writing. Then the whole world will eventually turn into a big high school newspaper website that only features stories on people from Watkins Mill. Who wants that? Who? It’s like the Dexter  finale all over again! WHO WANTED THAT?!?!?

I’m currently typing and I don’t think my hands can stop. Someone please help me. I can’t not do this anymore. My hands are cramping, my eyes are bleeding, my computer is dying! I’m pretty sure I’m dying too. Why did I decide to major in journalism? Why did I decide to write for this newspaper? Why am I publicizing my descent into madness? Why? Why? Why?

Anywho, I guess Alisha and I should just suck it up and deal with the fact that we’ve got a lot of work to do. I don’t even know how Alisha feels about this whole thing. I think we should get her take on it. Nevermind, she’s kind of writing her sixteen hundredth article for our next edition, so sorry guys.