I remember when I was a candidate trying out for The Daily Collegian, I would leave open newspapers folded to my articles on women's water polo or club volleyball.

You remember, don't you?

I would highlight my name, circle the headline or write "read this!" in hopes that somebody would actually take the required three to four minutes to read my story.

In those days, my stories were on the back pages of the newspaper by the crossword. You would think that would make me upset.

Actually, those were the good days.

The likelihood that you, my dear reader, would merely glance at my articles while doing the crossword would shoot up at least 250 percent.

I would rejoice when my article fell on the very last page because then you'd have a piece of what I worked so hard on the day before when you tear out the puzzle.

Today, as a police reporter, things have changed a bit.

I won't lie, though, I still have a link to my articles on my AOL Instant Messenger profile, and I still give occasional pop true-or-false quizzes about them.

If you're reading this now, you're ahead of the game.

So, I still like to see that all my friends and family members are reading my articles, because I want people to see that this is what I do. It's natural to want your work to be seen and appreciated, no what your major or job is.

I've been learning, early, I guess, about the life of a newspaper reporter. Sometimes stories work out, and sometimes they don't. I remember one time in the beginning of the semester, we got word of a big fire.

My fellow cops reporter and I sprinted down to the scene of the blaze to find out that it was an innocent dumpster fire. We had a good laugh about it afterwards, and really, that's all you can do in situations like that.

This semester, though, has been busy with a lot of big stories that were a challenge to cover.

There have been shootings, kidnappings, a stabbing, drug busts, rapes, a fatal hit-and-run accident, assaults and now a missing person.

Other stories, though, have been quite fun to write about.

Earlier in the year we got to do fan reaction stories for the Eagles trip to the Super Bowl.

I can't say I complained when I got to go to the bars to interview all the crazy, decked-out fanatics. My favorite moment was when a reader accused me of being a raging liberal, but I am quite the opposite.

So much so that I get grief for it from my colleagues who are constantly trying to convert me.

I've basically had a full-time job working at the Collegian this semester, and some reporters and I think we should have a cot put in so we can live down here at the James Building. It would be quite convenient.

Since the beginning of the semester we lost a handful of writers and as a result, our metro staff bonded.

We joke that we eat together, drink together and party together.

We even have a designated dinner table down at the office.

As a reporter, I have picked up several skills that I can take with me wherever I go after graduation, including correctly identifying every restaurant within a three-block radius of the office by scent alone.

Subway, anyone? How about Wendys?

I would even risk crossing four lanes of traffic to get to Arbys -- am I weird for passing on the curly fries?

Occasionally, my editors scold me for being at the office too much and ask me why I'm still here. I don't know if this is good or bad.

No matter how busy things get, though, and no matter how many people don't call me back for my stories, I still am going to like being a writer.

I'm sure this is true for anyone who loves what he or she is doing, and I'm sure you all have your dumpster fire moments. In my two years at the Collegian, I've realized how important it is to have a sense of humor when you work, or else you will go mad.

You have to be able to laugh and smile, no matter how frustrating things get.

Laugh when you mix the wrong chemicals and produce a small explosion in the lab, laugh when you put the wrong ingredient in a dish and laugh when accidentally run the wrong direction during a football game.

It's also good to forgive people for upsetting you - like when they mistake your last name for a popular jet-ski manufacturer.