(no subject)

It is most probably indicative of my utter naivety that I consider my $3-per-hour job the closest to my dream job that I'm likely to get while I'm still a freshman in college. I mean, seriously. I get to lie on a scruffy couch and hack through articles with a red pen with the mild-mannered and soft-spoken blond Chief Copy Editor only a few feet away at a desk, available to be asked any pestilential grammatical question. He even sometimes pays me the compliment of confirming some of his changes with me. People drift in and out of the copy room barefooted and bearing pizza, genially accosting the editors-in-chief or tossing new articles into the basket to be proofed. The comfortable clutter and the happily worn and heavily papered custard-colored walls, and even the occasional flea on the couch, complement perfectly the loud-mouthed hollering of questions and confirmations, as well as the somber tone of interviews over the office phones. I'd stay till they closed if there were anything left to do, but since I've gotten faster the articles are fewer and farther between, unless you count the ever-present Sports monsters of which I proof only enough to appreciate it thoroughly when articles with real language come in. All the same, I get sleepy close to the middle of the night after being deathly ill two days before, and I do have class at 8 tomorrow.