Editorial/suicide note – 4/1

Hey guys.
I’m sorry.
I’m really, really sorry for this.
I came to our editorial board meeting Monday night expecting to find everyone waiting eagerly to plan this week’s issue of The Campus.
I was feeling really optimistic about everything, really excited to bring you even more awesome journalism, to keep you guys well-informed with flawless, unbiased reporting and interesting articles.
But I found an empty room. When I checked our computers to see if anyone had left me a note or sent an email canceling, I found the newspaper you’re holding in your hands.
I found page after page of awful, unfunny, slanderous “news,” complete with offensive photos and a scary clown on the front page.
I read page six and slowly realized that my entire staff was dead. All died in various ways— some because of shoddy floorboards in Brooks, some passed calmly in their sleep, some because of the loss of their virginity (but thank God for Dan, I hope he finds many happy returns in heaven).
Regardless of how it happened, they were all dead.
For a while I refused to believe it, refused to accept that they would do something so cruel as to defile this venerable publication I so love and then just leave me in the lurch.
For the past 72 hours, I’ve been scrambling to remake the newspaper on my own, to keep The Campus on its feet without a staff.
I tried to report on the news around town. I called 86 people over those three days, got no sleep, wrote jittery student profiles and misguided sports recaps.
But today, I just gave up.
Right in the middle of page six was me. Also dead.
I thought it was prophetic that they left me no obituary.
Because I had received no warning note from any of them, no goodbye, I thought this was a message to me.
I thought they were saying: “We’re done with you. You should be done with you, too.”
So this is my goodbye.
I leave you this terrible newspaper not for lack of trying or because of a disdain for your needs and wants.
I leave you this because my heart is simply breaking, and I just can’t do it anymore. Please don’t let this be my legacy.
Please remember me as a benevolent dictator who imposed her viewpoints on everyone not out of cruel self-interest but because of a true understanding of what you all need and want.
Please remember this publication in its best light: our reporting on Springfest, our athlete profiles, our coverage of ASG elections.
Goodbye, cruel world.
I hope to find the purest freedom of the press when I arrive in heaven.