I didn’t choose the journalism life; the journalism life chose me.

So coming in to journalism a year and half ago, I had no expectations except to just learn and write. Now, I’m the editor, have gone to Detroit for a week to be alongside some excellent high school and adult journalists in the country and applying for another conference in Washington D.C. over the summer.

You’d think you could have a life outside of journalism, but in reality, you can’t.

I seem to always to be thinking about or working on journalism-related things 25/8 (Yes, even more than 24/7). And I’m pretty sure I’m in Cappiello’s class so much, I basically have a seat with my name on it.

My daily schedule is pretty routine, so here’s what the typical day looks like:

In the morning, I head to Cap’s class to get the run-down of what he wants to get done that day. Around 1:35 P.M., the real chaos erupts.

When I walk into the room, I contemplate taking a Xanax because this class is by far one of the most intense and overwhelming classes I have taken, but I prefer to call it character building.

Before I get there, I make sure to check the current events because he usually asks me to be in charge of leading the discussion while he’s editing stories — and “gently” providing what he likes to call “constructive criticism.”

I then give them the rundown and we all get to work based on our priorities of the day.

The weekly news meetings are the prime time when I want to rip my hair out from the massive amount of blank stares and side conversations surrounding me.

You may think the Bird Box challenge is difficult; try running a news meeting. It’s equivalent to being stuck in a dark room attempting to solve a Rubik’s Cube with your hands tied behind your back.

Occasionally, whether it’s a rowdy or productive day, I go around the room and ask what they’re working on to subtly tell them to get work and quit spilling tea.

On top of that, following directions in general seem to be about as difficult as brain surgery.

When I’m editing the stories, I internally scream because some reporters can’t remember how to effectively use the building blocks of journalism, our first lessons of the year.

But thankfully, they are getting better at it.

The life of the “J.B.” or the female dog in class is quite the adventure. Being assertive doesn’t mean you’re being aggressive, but I’m pretty sure I’m just being flat out aggressive at this point. You have to assert your dominance in a class of around 22 girls because they smell fear.

But hey, diamonds are created under pressure. *insert hair flip here*

But with all the passive aggressive energy lingering, tea spilling and editing stories, I sure do work up an appetite.

I’ve never seen so many empty boxes of food in the trash since team dinners for swimming.

Even after hearing all of this, the real question is if it’s all worth it.

The stress and frustration fades away, but the memories, experiences and the opportunities I’ve gained I will forever look back on over the years.

It makes this class one of the most thrilling, spiciest and crazy I’ve taken. I learn something new every day, whether that’s a possum in Florida breaking into the liquor store for some whiskey or local news of someone contributing their time for others by making sock monkeys. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The environment may not be as diverse as The New York Times, but they’re definitely bringing things to the table that make The Prowl a unique and spicy all-around, a class I will never forget and will continue to look forward to until I graduate.