You spin me right round, baby, right round like a record baby, right round round round round.

I feel that, in general, the readers I have are fairly non-judgmental. The people that I know come here regularly, Karen, Nick, Ashley, Carrie, I know that I don't actually have to explain myself to, but for some reason, I always feel like I need to. The stuff I'm about to talk about, I feel the need to say prior, "You guys know I don't mean it like this, right?" for some reason.

Maybe because I'm aware this is a very public blog site, and I have delusions that someone is going to come across it, care enough to read it, and think I'm an awful person. Which, generally, I am not. But I want people to know that I'm. . .not a bad person? I don't know. I'm dealing with things and emotions right now that are kind of weird for me, and since I don't know what I'm dealing with I, in effect, don't know if I'm dealing with them PROPERLY.

Also, I started this blog with the intent of it just being somewhere I could talk about the weirdness in my life and how things were going at work, and it has turned into an actual, introspective. . .diary, a journal if you will, where I actually deal with those damned things called feelings. I don't know how I feel about that. Maybe I should get back to just general, "This happened, this happened, haha, isn't that funny?" But maybe then I wouldn't write as much. Maybe I'm overthinking it, like I do everything else, and it doesn't actually matter to anyone except me.

I don't really know.

So this day.

It's 6:51, and I'm still at work. I'm supposed to be in Asheville at Carol's birthday dinner, which started at 6. After that, they're going to her boyfriend's brewery for a few drinks or whatever, and I told her I'd catch up with them then, but the fact of the matter is, I'm still here.

The question then comes into play, "Sarah, why are you still there?"

I'm still here because, even though I may be one of the only ones, I, for whatever reason, care about putting out a paper that doesn't completely blow. Vi's out of town this week, and so I'm literally the only person that is here to look at what NewJeff's done and to make sure that it and the sports pages are done right. Vi doesn't give the front this much attention, so why should I?

Because I'm a perfectionist that cares way too much about an organization that doesn't give a damn about me, that's why.

So I had to do Randy's obituary today. I didn't think I would have to, because, from what I understand, it turns out they're not entirely sure why killed him. I believe they're thinking aneurisym (or however you spell it). It was. . .it was rough. Chuck helped write it, and I put it at the top of the page, with a picture. They're not having a funeral, just a visitation on Wednesday. I'll probably see if MK would like me to go. . .not necessarily with him, but for him, I guess, but I have all ideas that he'll not be going alone, so he should be fine. I'm. . .more than slightly concerned about him, but I can't really do anything.

It's 8 now, and I'm finally heading to Asheville. I. . .don't really want to go, but I'd be disappointed if someone said they were coming to see me and didn't because of stupid work, so off I go.

I'll give you more of those "feelings" everyone's so keen on me talking about later. I'm worn out, though, and it's an emotional and physical worn out, so I'm going to have to put my party face on.

EDITED: Carol called me and said things would be winding down by the time I got there, so we could hang out and have a make-up birthday later. I'm. . .kind of sad, actually, even though I'm tired, because I was looking forward to not thinking about anything for a while. So, no Asheville for Sarah.

I'm going to go get some coffee ice cream, which I have recently discovered I love, and go blog some more at home. Sorry for the outpouring, y'all.