Created half to rise

What exactly is it (if anything) you like about Eupheme?

Aside from the newspaper.

Really.

Well, have fun without me.

Also traumatic is Blake's bedroom. Actually, I think several people could benefit from the following bit of free advice:

Differences between floors and shelves: Floors are large, and have one or several large fixtures on them. Frequently they are also carpeted. Shelves, conversely, are small and elevated, unable to support things as substantial as beds. Shelves are never carpeted.

And finally: Neddy, are you alright?

That's it. Back to my usual regime of illegal drugs and the odd prostitute.

Anyway, no time to type, no time to sleep, for always were are given less time than we can use...

So send newspaper submissions.

Or maybe I've just been applying to nearby prep schools (just in case). But who's to know.

I have, however, had some rather scathing interviews, á la:

INTERVIEWER: Mr...Popé,

ME: Pope, please. As in "Alexander VI".

INTERVIEWER, oblivious to the hilarity: Oh. Yes. Mr. Pope, in what extracurricular activities have you involved yourself?

ME: I'm the editor and active advocate of the school newspaper.

INTEVIEWER, looking at his CLIPBOARD as if it hold INCRIMINATING EVIDENCE: And this newspaper, how many issues have been published?

ME: Ehrm. One. Sir.

INTERVIEWER, SMUGLY: I see. Any other activities?

ME: I also do homework. And sometimes I indulge in time-consuming asthma attacks.

INTERVIEWER, still unamused: I see.

There, you see, classmates? Your reticence has cut off my options of escape. If something terrible happens to Eupheme, I will be forced to become an uneducated hermit in the adjacent woods.

Obviously she never took medicinal learning seriously, because she is working at Eupheme. And I lived. So she's bad at it, too.

Blake has finished the set; let's all applaud him. At least someone here is getting things done.

I'm being deadly serious. Ten minutes. Five, even. You all read this paper, and fail APPARENTLY to grasp that it runs on a basis of mutual contribution. Salon-style learning. You attend Eupheme, you have complaints, you interests, you have things you want to share with your peers, so you write an article for the paper. I'm not asking too much, I promise. Even from my own perspective, having woken up more times than I can count with my face in a keyboard in the newsroom, or just watching the sun rise behind proofs: you have the time.

On another note: Although I sometimes do unforgivably heinous things, like ask for newspaper submissions, I'm not a blatant asshole. If I've made any of you, say, cry repeatedly, it's only through being fastidiously polite. However this is obviously not enough.

In sum: I won't beg for appreciation for All My Hard Work & Lost Sleep, and certainly not for Angering People. But really. I don't know to what ideal everyone is holding me.

(Look! No Bad Language!)

Upcoming submission deadline is planned for July first. If you have any objections, hunt me down on your own time.

What's been going on in your own (hopefully less frivolous and depressing) lives?

Is there some reason that almost everyone, upon meeting me, sees fit to threaten me with immediate or future bodily harm?

Is there?

( Cut for exceptional indignity )

In response to this, I am collecting students with printers. Preferrably fast printers. There is going to be an unscheduled issue, and it is going to be inappropriate by the standards given to me.

And really, if I had any means by which to obstruct justice in this case, I would be obstructing with all my might.

Random Addendum:

To all appearances, Charlotte is avoiding me.

But, apparently, the police are camping outside the office, or something. I wouldn't put it past them to set up little government-logo-emblazoned tents outside the pressroom, waiting to leap on unsuspecting students. Which they did. Enthusiastically, and with flashlights. Admittedly, the pressroom is near the Scene of the Incident, and I was lurking there in the dead of night. They quickly checked for any cannonballs concealed on my person. The rest of the exchange was approximately:

( in which I am not only stopped by the police, but surprisingly rude to them )

Apparently they hired a few eager policemen to stroll around the school a few times before they run off it monitor traffic. Who in first block Social Studies would be willing to take notes for me?

But there are some things about the nature of this "investigation" that are peculiar. And I say this in an intellectual, speculative way only. Because I understand that these journals are probably being watched by several precinct janitors for an admission or intimation of guilt. The students are not being questioned as witnesses, we are apparently being interrogated.

An adult was assaulted (I use the term loosely) on a school campus. His money was stolen. When all or most of the students were contained in a separate wing of the school.

And suspicion falls on the students? The only cohesive group on campus with a self-sustained alibi? To my experience such a group would be valuable in the location of whoever actually attacked Roberts. It is remarkable than anyone would leap to this conclusion first. So remarkable, in fact, that it goes slightly beyond the realm of serendipity.

I am slightly embarrassed to call my father asking to borrow a lawyer or two (to consult as per the above), but he's probably heard of this already.

Anyone interested in writing about this? I would be inclined to explore The Unfortunate Incident in both a factual account, and a speculative editorial.
<p<(And, Charlotte, thank you for your company. It was wonderful.)

Finished printing at five-thirty in the morning, distributed by six. I only had time to scan it after school, but hopefully you've all had a chance to read it.

I know everyone has heard my complain about The Paper for Almost Three Weeks, but if you'll stand a little more I assure you there will be less bravado. Frankly, I expected more of myself. After weeks of living in the pressroom, at least.

Thank you to all of the authors. But don't rest on your laurels.

More on that later.

Am now free to focus "energy" on The Dance as well as schoolwork as well as hiring someone to kill Bill. In the kindest way possible.

Hope you all enjoyed read the paper.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to sleep for six years for about an hour.

Business:

If I ever promised to shut up about the newspaper, I obviously lied. It is now Thursday, and the deadline for submission is Friday (and will remain Friday). I have, of yet, very few newspaper submissions in my inbox.

There need to be more.

There will be more by Friday at midnight.

Thank you.

Other:

Actually I have very little else to say, other than that I vaguely miss sleeping and promise that none of you will attend the dance if articles are not submitted by Friday at midnight.

... FRIDAY AT MIDNIGHT.

I spoke to Lovecraft, with whom I share a Social Studies class first hour (but never again the same five-foot radius) about my inexcusable breeches of propriety in soliciting the newspaper. Then the whole thing degenerated into being simply threatening until, and you will only see this once, Jane Austen rescued me.

I will not go so far as to say anything vaguely offensive about just how embarrassing this may or may not be, but now you know. Further in this vein, I don’t think I’m secretly attracted to Lovecraft, I was genuinely drafting a living will.

I think I now realize that I was never in any immediate danger, and am now off to redeem myself with a feat both exceptional and manly, like working on the paper or doing some translations.

(In brief, to Charlotte: what time should I meet you, about?)