I'm half-way through my internship. It's difficult to grasp. I have been here just over four weeks. I have conquered my fear of living alone. Discovered a new horror of moths and still have not gone wind surfing although I might convince some rangers to take me kayaking with them in two weeks.
On Tuesday, the editor and I had lunch with the Snowden Scholarship Coordinator. We talked about what was working, what wasn't working and what might happen in the future. They both looked at me a little slack-jawed when I proclaimed that I didn't intend to look for a journalism job immediately after finishing the internship. But they said my reasons were Good.
"Let's perpetuate a stereotype, shall we?" said my editor, a British ex-pat, as he ordered a pot of tea.
The point: I have been deemed acceptable. So I am left with the panic of living up to solidified expectations coupled with the fat lazy feeling of realizing I don't need to impress them now. They like me.
But excelsior, etc. Fight and fight and write until you die. Oh the drama.
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