No News will be Good News.

It has become a drought of sorts, no new arrivals, nothing falling into my lap. Maybe it is because this is my last week as a newspaper reporter, or just maybe because it has always been this slow.
I keep synchronizing my e-mail, something that many in my generation have never had to do. On the older computer systems, mainly pre-makeover Mac operators, you must hover over tools, pull down to synchronize, and then jog over to all folders. It is a menial process, especially when it yields no results.
So I click and scroll and wait for the loading bar to reach the end of its inbox, outbox, sent cycle. Nothing ever happens, excepting the occasional mass-correspondence from Chuck Grassely aimed at exposing the potential failures of health reform.
I read and delete them, only responding when I feel extra ornery about the subject at hand. I know he will not read them, we do not truly have representation in the halls of government.

I will be done with this path on Friday,
I can see the top of the ridge now.
I have stumbled down it half-hearted,
hoping to find an easy way out.


Friday will be the day for desk packing, goodbyes, and see you soons. I do not plan on coming back, but who ever does? I am longing for a quiet resting place, but I know that one will not come soon.
The weight in my pockets will be lighter as I purge keys throughout this week. First front doors, back doors and desk keys, then all the ones that I have no use for anymore. 14 of 16 will disappear by the time the weekend comes, leaving locked the past I ran from and the present I can't stand.
The coffee and commute lifestyle has proven not for me. Chained to a desk, with a cellular ball and chain, has been keeping me from sleep. I have no interest in small town news, I could care less what improvements to 'B' level roads are being made. I just want to drive down them and marvel at the orange blossoms that struggle through the tall grass to reach towards the sun.
I do not want to interview anyone, I just want to sit and listen. Quietly conversing as a caring new friend is how I would rather fill that time. I feel like the town gossip, letting out everybody's lies. Before I ever come around everyone polishes their image and makes sure to watch their words.
There is no emotion in the black and white pages, excepting the classified giveaways. Just the drone of a public scanner. We report the news and small town dealings that will not matter in a week. Whenever big news breaks, it is blocked and hidden, only shown after the truth has been taken away.


The sources won't give away too much,
because we all just lie and cheat.
It's human nature I suppose:
that makes the only important thing food on the table to eat.
I will not miss the hour drives
that I spend bemoaning the current day.
I often curse the sun for rising,
and not staying tucked away.
So soon I hope to make amends,
to friends near and afar:
I will show them all how I have grown
while they traveled near and far.