The End

It's actually quite sad. . .that I abandoned this blog where this is the 99th post. I feel like I could have had an epic 100th entry or something. Instead, I'm leaving it at 99. Closing this chapter of my life.

However! If you're looking for new chapters for a new story. . .walk this way: http://letsgetincharacter.blogspot.com

Here's a thought, just in case you're wondering.

Saying "I'm saying this to you as your friend" doesn't mean a damn thing if I didn't ask you for your opinion in the first place. How about that? Also, you're kind of not my friend.

And saying "since we know each other better now, I'm not going to say 'oh, yeah, I understand' like I did in the beginning" just makes me not want to hear what you're saying, because you obviously were lying to me to begin with.

Why is it so hard for people to just tell the fucking truth?

The last thing I remember, I was running for the door. I had to find the passage back to the place I was before. . .

I'm going to start this entry before I go to Carrie's for dinner, and I'll finish it later, because, according to the little thing at the top of this page, there is a "scheduled outage at 4 p.m. PDT" today. I think that means Pacific time, and if that's the case, that's 7 p.m. Here Time. Which means in 20 minutes.

According to my Dashboard, March 15 was the last time I updated, and I'd mentioned a job interview. That interview went well, and I'm now a writer/ad rep for a homeowner's magazine here in town. Unfortunately, the economy being the way it is, they don't want to hire me full time, just to have to turn around and say, "Yeah, Sarah, we're tanking. We need to renegotiate." So as it stands, I get paid by the article, I get a commission for sales made, and I get paid by the hour for any other work I do there. It's not stable, but it's something, and it's not only in publishing, but in magazines. It's definitely a first step toward. . .something. I also have other little side projects that hopefully pan out for me (MK snagged me a freelancing job writing an article for a magazine, which is awesome. Get my work out of the papers and into the rags. Again, a good start.)

I've also had several long and treacherous interviews with Best Buy, which I won't get into, but it's, at this point, pretty much a 50/50 shot I'll get a job.

For those of you that have heard me complain about this already, I apologize, but since the event is tonight (as we speak, actually), this will be the last you'll hear of it. At least until next year. but maybe by next year, I'll be able to afford to attend on my own accord.

There's this event that's held here yearly that is basically a restaurant competition. All these restaurants get together and compete for prizes, and attendees basically walk around, eating all this incredible food and drinking to their heart's content. I went last year because I was reporting on the story. I didn't actually realize what a big deal the thing was until I ran into Dennis (who was photographing the event) on my way out that night and he said something to the effect of, "You're not wearing that, are you?" So I ran home and got all gussied up. The place it was held last year was yards nicer than the place they're having it this year, and it was one of my favorite nights ever (minus a minor tift I found myself having that night). I've been looking forward to this thing since I left the event last year. I even had a dress for it. It was a dress that I bought, having nowhere to wear it, and when I pointed this fact out to MK, he said, "You can wear it to this year's event!"

This was, of course, before my involuntary termination. And now I still have this gorgeous dress hanging in my closet and I will, most likely, never have anywhere to wear it.

So, literally. Looking forward to it all year. And then, a month and a half before it happens, I'm canned. I've been really, really bitter about it for the last few weeks, and when I walked by the place this afternoon (I was going for a walk because I feel utterly lethargic these days) it smelled so fucking good, and all these people were going in, all dressed up, and I got. . .sad. Not angry, but sad. It was a combination of still being sore about the firing, and having looked forward to it for so long and then having it taken away, but it was also. . .the Chamber of Commerce puts this event on, and it's one of those things all the People You Want To Know attend. When I was working at the paper, I could go to these events, no questions asked, and feel like I was important. Like I belonged around these people. But clearly, I don't. And I'm not too proud to admit how shallow I am in that respect. I like to feel like I belong around important people. I've learned in the last few weeks that I can pretty much have a conversation with anyone, and I think, at least last year, I mingled well with these people. And now? If I turned up at the door of the venue right now, they'd summarily show my the door. Me in my black sweater and jeans and one pink lacey glove. With my black nail polish and my Converse sneakers.

That's what it is, you know? When I was working there, I felt like I belonged in this town. And now I don't. Now I'm, really, no one. I went from, in Vi's words, being a minor celebrity to being. . .that girl in the dirty Converses and tattered jeans. And I really hate myself for caring, but I do. Because I'd gotten used to it.

Back after dinner.

OK, lies. Back the next day. I don't even remember what else I was going to talk about. I've got a meeting today with a guy I'm writing an article for and, hopefully, next week some of these people I'm trying to sell to will get back to me.

And if that's what you have in mind, yeah, that's what you're all about, good luck movin' up because I'm movin' out.

I feel compelled to clarify because it's getting frustrating how many times people ask. I'm not. . .let's put it this way. Just because I wish a tree would fall on me doesn't mean I'm going to start dating a lumberjack. Make sense?

It's amazing to me how many new things I can find to organize in my apartment. I got so excited yesterday, during helping Carrie and Frank clean out their house, because I found a cord that looked like it would fit my camera exactly. The battery of this camera doesn't come out, so you have to plug it up to the computer. I've almost bought a new cord on eBay three different times now, but I keep thinking, no, as soon as you buy one, you're going to find your old one, and then you're going to be pissed. So when I found this cord, I was thrilled beyond all belief. Finally, I said to myself, you will be able to videotape the thoughts you feel you should share with the world, because blogging just isn't enough. The world needs to see you in technicolor motion!

Just now, when I retrieved the cord from the car, I discovered that no, it does not fit. It's ever so slightly too big. So I'm still camera-with-microphone-less. And that makes me sad.

I have also discovered, for those of you keeping track, a new allergy. Along with dust, pollen, most cats and some dogs, add "feather pillows" to the list. I'd taken two from Carrie and Frank's, and couldn't figure out why my throat was closing up and I was sneezing all over everything. Removing the pillows from my room and, ultimately, my house cleared up the problem nicely.

I took out my spring and summer clothes today. I left a couple of sweaters in my closet, in case we have another weird and random frigid cold snap, along with a hoodie or two and my lighter jackets. But generally, the lighter stuff, I can layer if I need to. Or wear a jacket. I got rid of some stuff (it's going to the yard sale) and was pleasantly surprised to find that some of my clothes, dresses especially, fit me better than they did last year. Some of it was too big, and I just went ahead and got rid of it. I was also pleasantly surprised to find three pairs of shoes in the container. They're all sandal-y wedges, so that's probably why I'd put them up for the winter. You don't want to be tromping through five inches of snow in sandal-y wedges.

So, I made a recipe today that I've been wanting to try for months called Chicken Loredo. It was. . .I don't want to say I was disappointed, but I kind of was. Don't get me wrong; it's delicious. But something about the way it looked really bothered me. I had in mind more of a casserole-solidity to it, but it's more like a spread. Like, I could see putting it over chips and calling it Chicken Loredo Nachos, which is what I may end up doing. I did my usual thing of substituting things to make it (in my opinion, of course) better. I traded Velveeta for Pepperjack Velveeta and pinto beans for black beans, both because I don't really like pinto beans and also because I had a can of black beans in my cabinet. A can of frijoles negros, if you will. Because that sounds sexier than "black beans."

Anyway, if you're looking for a way to clear your sinuses, I would highly recommend the Pepperjack Velveeta. It almost killed me. And by that, I mean it was amazing. This dish has quite a bit of kick to it, between that and the tomatoes with chilis and. . .there's something else that makes it kicky, but I can't remember what it was. But yes. It had that kind of heat to it I like in dishes, the kind that makes you take a swig of water after every other bite, but that keeps you eating it. But I definitely think I'm going to get some tortilla chips to eat with this stuff. Also, something that bothered me about it was the fact that the cheese wasn't evenly melted. You're supposed to cut the Velveeta into "thick chunks," but all that happens there is that you get chunks of cheese. Or, "cheese." It's just not aesthetically pleasing. But now I have another. . .4 meals or so this week.

Got a job interview Tuesday. Not going to go too much into it, but it's there.

She walks to the mailbox each morning at 9; every day she's thinking she's one day behind. (At least when it comes to the mail.)

I've come to the conclusion that getting fired is very much akin to going through a break-up with someone you were very much in love with, but who then devastated you for no good reason.

In the beginning, you cry. You cry a lot. You cry until you realize you've been so depressed, you haven't changed clothes, or even showered, for like three days.

Then, that passes. And you get mad. Really, really mad. How dare they break up with you? How dare they fire you quasi-unexpectedly? You gave the best years of your life to that relationship and the best hours of your week to that job. How DARE they?

Then you start telling everyone that you're better off without your ex. Or that job you got fired from. "I'm better than them," you say. "I'm so much happier without them. They were holding me back. I'm going to be a rock star and find a new boyfriend/girlfriend/job really soon, because anyone would be lucky to have me." And you start thinking about all the things you can do now that you have some spare time on your hands. "I can learn French! I can take up painting! I can read more books!"

Then you start to get a little depressed because you have no new prospects. Your Match.com profile (or your resume) is going unread. And you have to sit around and listen to your friends bitch about their love lives (or how much they have to work) and you're thinking, "At least you HAVE SOMEONE!" ("At least you HAVE A JOB!")

And then the day comes when you run into your ex's friends. They ask how you're doing, and you put on a gigantic smile and say great, you couldn't be better, you're actually seeing someone. Or, in the alternate scenario, you get a facebook message from a former co-worker asking how things are panning out for you because "inquiring minds want to know." Well I'll tell you, sweet cheeks, if inquiring minds want to know, they can ask me themselves. When I finally get around to answering that message, I can assure you all, it will be sunshine and roses.

So then, a month or so goes by, and you're feeling better. You're ready to put yourself back together, to pick yourself up after your humiliating dumping. You're seeing other people. Nothing serious, but you're putting yourself back out there. And then one day, out of nowhere, you're at the store, and you run into them. You thought you were ready for it, but you're not. And you realize just how much you miss them. You know they weren't good for you, you know your future is better off without them, but you still miss them. Mine came in the form of a massage therapist I know putting a page on facebook so you could become her "fan." When I was looking at her pictures, I saw that she had one up of the story I wrote for her, the cover of that issue, and on the picture of her actually massaging someone, I saw she had the story and the cover framed and on the wall. That was me. That was all me. Vi wanted to throw her into the Business section of the paper, a little 7 to 10 inch story, but I took her and made her a page-long story and gave her the cover.

I was on my way to becoming a superstar. And then it was gone. And now I'm. . .I'm pretty much nothing. And I'm feeling like pretty much nothing.

I had coffee with MK the other day, and we were talking about business cards. He asked me, "What would you put on a business card for yourself?" and I couldn't think of a damn thing. Even though you're not supposed to define yourself by your career, I did. I was the Editor. That was what I did, that's who I was. And that was taken from me, and I feel like I have absolutely nothing to offer anymore. I don't do anything. No one wants me for anything.

There was more I was going to say, but I'm tired, and I'm going to go to bed. I'm on the brink right now. A brink of a serious depression that is going to take me months to pull myself out of. I recognize being on this particular brink, because I've been here many times before. And I know once I go over the edge, it's going to be a bitch to get away from. It always is. But I don't have anything right now. And the things I do have aren't even really mine. This girl I know, who also has been having a rough time recently, said that sometimes, she just wishes a tree would fall on her. I completely understand this.

I have been, for the better part of the evening, cataloging, in my head, a list of my epic failures over the years. I really don't have a lot to show at this point. I can't even interview for Best Buy correctly.

One thing I have discovered I'm good at, though, is hiding the fact that I occasionally wish for that tree to fall. I'm amazed at how many people have commented on how well I'm handling everything and how great my attitude is. That, my friends, is talent at its finest.

Let freedom ring. Let the white dove sing. Let the whole world know that today is a day of reckoning. Let the weak be strong; let the right be wrong.

There's been quite a lot going on, but I haven't had the desire to sit down and write it out. But here I am now.

The weather? Has been gorgeous. Freaking gorgeous. I've been going up to Lake J and walking around it (2.5 miles according to Allison) and generally enjoying the outdoors.

I've been cooking a lot (since I can't afford to go out to eat, you know) and I've made up some kickass recipes. One of them stemmed from attempting to replicate this pasta dish I used to get all the time in college. I couldn't make it taste exactly like that, but I would argue that mine is better. The first time I made it, I made it with spaghetti noodles. It was good, but I thought it might be better with smaller noodles, like macaroni. I was on the phone with MK when I made this observation and he, sweetheart he is, brought me macaroni he had frozen. I took a picture of the macaronisicle, because it made me laugh when I opened it. I managed to make the noodles mushy (I HATE when I do that, mainly because I pride myself on my al dente noodles), but it was still an awesome recipe. If I actually measured things when I cooked them, I'd share it. As it stands, though, every time I make it, it's probably a different ration of ingredients. But MK's macaroni noodles really did save my recipe.

I have to say. . .a rough as things have been, every now and again, I have an "everything's going to be OK" moment. I got an e-mail from a woman I work with within the Girl Scouts (or, who I will work with again once I get my act together and make it to another meeting) telling me about a job opening at the hospital (it's part-time). I told her I'd look into it and ended up applying. She e-mailed me later and said if I was really interested, she'd mention how awesome I am to the woman who, apparently, is conducting the hiring. So, awesome. I don't know, you know, that I'd get it, but it's nice knowing that there are people out there looking out for me.

I also have an interview at Best Buy tomorrow, which could potentially also be part-time. So really, if I had the fortune to get both of them, two part-time jobs is kind of like a full-time job, right? And even with one part-time job, that's better than none job. So I'm looking forward to (and keeping my fingers crossed for) something good to happen there. I actually think it might be coolish to work at Best Buy. Although I must say, I've decided that if someone from the paper comes in to interview people for the Grand Opening (which will be in mid-April), I absolutely will not talk to them. Karen pointed out it's a conflict of interest. Sarah points out that I don't want to help those people at all. Call me bitchy, but I've been called worse, so whatever.

Some of my money problems have been aided, and I also found out that I owe the government less than $300, rather than the $500 I originally thought I owed. Turns out, the interest I've paid on my student loans had an impact on the amount. That's just federal I owe. Initially, it showed I owed $22 to the state, but now, I'll get back $44. And that's, like, two tanks of gas. So there you go.

It's weird that the weather has been so ridiculously nice when, like, a week ago, it was freezing and snowing. I don't know if it's just North Carolina weather, which is known to be erratic, or if this is happening all over the place. I feel like I've heard from people in other parts of the country that it's happening everywhere. It's just odd to me that a week or so ago, there were Icicles That Could Kill a Man (pictured at right.)

I guess that's it for now. In short, things aren't stellar, but they could be much, much worse.

I'm so tired. Come on, look me in my bloodshot eyes. (The clouds are all on fire.)

I don't like snow. I have to say that straight up. I don't understand people wanting to go out and play in it (unless, of course, you have a sled). It's pretty, sure, and you can get some good photos in it, but otherwise, I have no use for snow.

Yesterday (Sunday), I woke up at about 10:30 and saw it was gross and gray and snowing, so I went back to bed. When I finally got up, 1:30-ish, it looked like a snow bomb had exploded outside my window. And it did not stop. I went out to take some pictures, but about froze my ass off, so came back in.

Oh! I almost forgot. I have to credit my favorite twin Karen for turning me on to the next person whose babies I am going to have ALL of. David Cook? Is my new lover. I'll say, I have never watched a season of American Idol. I've only actually watched one episode (not counting auditions. . .I've seen 2 or 3 of those) all the way through, and that was when it was Clay vs. Rueben. Literally, the next day at school, all the black kids were up in the white kids' faces because a black guy won. Yes, that was the joy of Millbrook High School. Also, I would, if I were those guys, be kind of embarassed I was watching American Idol. But that's just me.

Anyway, Karen, I have known for some time, was rather fond of David Cook. I'd never heard him perform, but I'd seen him, thought he was cute enough, whatever.

Then last night, she sent me a clip of him singing. And I was. . .mesmorized. For reals. He's got the kind of voice that you really just want to have sex with. And then as I went further through the YouTube David Cook archives, I found that he sang some awesome songs. . .awesomely! "I Don't Want To Miss a Thing"! "Music of the Night"! "Living on a Prayer"! He also touches the microphone like he wants to have ITS babies, and it's. . .generally, it's just the hottest thing ever. So David Cook is my new lover, if you were wondering. By the by, Nick disagrees with the level of attractiveness Karen and I have bestowed upon David Cook. Nick, incidentally, is wrong.

Today, I had a meeting at 9. Didn't get up until 8:30, and then when I went out to my car, I found it was frozen shut. Jenn called and rescheduled the meeting until tomorrow, but I still had errands to run, so I had to go in and get a big bowl of hot water to pour over the door frame to get it open. Went to CVS. Discovered they'd only let me get one bottle of insulin, because I'd just refilled the prescription. Since my insurance runs out Wednesday, that was awesome. Got some food from Wal-Mart. Came home. Did dishes. Made lunch, which, by the way, was awesome. I stole the "recipe" from a guy I knew in college. Basically, I made a much cheaper version of the Arby's roast beef and swiss melt. It was awesome and I can have more than one for just a little more than the cost of one value meal.

I've been cooking more recently, out of necessity more than anything, since I can't really afford to go out anymore. I'd forgotten how much I liked cooking.

Then I started cleaning (again) and organizing (some more). You'd be surprised how many different ways you can organize closets. I redid my actual closet, the shoe closet, and some other shelves and stuff. I also realized that I have what I suspect is frostbite on my right wrist. It's this random red area that is just about the amount of skin that would have been between my glove and my jacket sleeve while I was trying to get my stupid car open. It actually looks a little like a hickey. Granted, I haven't had one of those in. . .Good Lord, 8, 9 years?, but I remember what they look like. It's my little wrist hickey, given to me by making out with the freezing, freezing cold.

Anyway, as I was putting my stacks of newspapers into "storage" (a Rubbermaid container), I got the Unemployment Blues. I'd just gotten an e-mail telling me that I had to send a sheet to the unemployment office, specifying EXACTLY why I'd been fired, so they can decide if I ACTUALLY get the benefits they've already said I can have. Then I got really. . .depressed, thinking about how on Wednesday, it will have been a month, and how I am going to have to explain why I got fired to future employers, which is exhausting, actually, trying to come up with a fancy way of saying it, and then I realized that no one would have ever done for me what I did to get fired and I just got really sad.

And then, and then.

OK, so there's a reporter at the paper that I wouldn't trust with anything. At all. Ever. I only ever told her about things after everyone else already knew. She seemed to think, for some reason, that I would confide things in her. This is false. Then there's this other reporter that left the paper in. . .May, I believe, to travel around the world with his wife. He's a tool. A complete and total, arrogant tool. Can't stand the guy. I'll call the girl K and the guy J. Because I'm not really trying to hide identities.

I'd noticed a few weeks ago, K had written on J's wall the following: "Hey there! How's world traveling? Are you guys still in Australia? I heard about the fires down there and hope you guys are safe. Same things going on here at the paper, just with fewer people."

Now, knowing K, I know that the only reason she said this was to get J to ask her who was gone and why. And she succeeded. His message to her read: "Things are pretty good. We are on an Indonesian island called Sulawesi ... used to be called Celebes. We heard about the fires too and were glad we were not there. The fires in Australia can be really bad. What happened to all the people at the paper. Who is gone? Sorry it took me so long to write you ... we were off the grid for a while. -J" K got what she wanted.

Her next note: "Let's see...Dennis was laid off and Sarah got fired for trying to save his job. So now we have me, Beth, Vicki and Jeff (designer/reporter) in the news room, with Carol part time at lifestyles and Chuck. It gets pretty quiet in the newsroom! LOL Glad to hear you guys are enjoying your journeys. I've pretty much proofed all of your updates and you guys are having a great time."

Fair enough. J's response?

"Dennis laid off = good news IMO. But Sarah went down in flames with him? That is SALACIOUS NEWSROOM SCANDAL!!! But now no photog? Bad times."

OK, first of all? I didn't realize J had beef with Dennis. Secondly? (Oh, by the way, for those of you unaware, and definition of salacious is " lustful or lecherous.") I, apparently, sacrificed MY ENTIRE CAREER in a salacious manner. Had nothing to do with the fact that I thought what the higher-ups were doing was stupid and ludicrous. No, no. I did it solely because I was trying to get laid.

That burned me more than I can even tell you. It's insulting above anything else. And do you think K defended me? Of course she didn't. She's all nice to me when she sees me about town and she talks to me on facebook or whatever, but whatEVER. There's a reason I didn't ever tell her things.

The only good thing that came out of this was that Karen and I decided to use the word "salacious" as much as is humanly possible in away messages and statuses. So right now, my friends, I am headed to a salacious dinner with Carrie, Frank, and Caleb.

I know what you are (what you are, Baby.)

I? Am in a fantastic mood. Occasionally, I have a day where I'm able to forget that I'm unemployed and 10 seconds away from welfare, and I'm able to enjoy the finer things in life. I'll make a legit entry, and then I have another one of those iPod list survey things, this one telling the story of my life. I know you're excited. But Nick liked the last one, so I'm going to do another one. Also, I like them, so that's good enough reason.

Most of you know the saga of the crazy woman downstairs. How she's fucking insane and. . .well, crazy. And hateful. So yesterday, I was washing dishes, and my phone rings. It's my landlady, and I'm thinking, crap. Because getting a call from your landlady is never a good thing. Except this time, it was.

"Hi, Sarah," she says, "I have good news for you."
"Oh?" says I.
"Yes. Your downstairs neighbor is moving out."

You guys? I almost danced a dance of joy right there in the middle of my kitchen.

So the conversation goes on, and she says, "Yeah, I ran into David (my across the hall neighbor) at Big Lots the other day, and when he told me about the police thing, I said, 'My goodness, I'm going to have to ask her to leave."

". . .police thing?" I asked. "What police thing?"

"Oh my God," she said. "You didn't know?"

I didn't.

Apparently, Sunday, when I went to Rhonda's house to work on the Taste of Chocolate cookbook, Crazy Lady had called the police to complain about all the noise her upstairs neighbor was making. For one thing, according to the town's Noise Ordinance, I am allowed to be obnoxious and loud until 9 p.m. She called them sometime between 6 and 7. Now, I'm not loud and obnoxious anyway. But the fact of the matter is. . .I wasn't even here. So when the police came up and knocked on my door, Across-the-Hall-David comes out to find out what's going on, and that's how my landlady found out about it.

She called the police on her neighbor that wasn't even home. How. . .how completely GLORIOUS is that? It's beautiful. Poetry, even.

So yes. She will be gone by the first of April. And what a happy, joyous occasion that will be. Fabulous in every way possible. You guys don't even know. I will no longer have to live in fear of walking through my kitchen.

Oh, and it turns out that when Crazy Lady called the landlady to let her know she was going to be moving, she complained about all the noise I make because, and I quote, "She's always walking around up there."

. . . . . .

Because I'm walking around. In my home.

But no matter. In approximately 32 days, I will be Crazy Lady free. And it will be a joyous occasion and there will be celebrating throughout the land.

I don't really have a lot else to say. Oh, except that today marks one year of momentous occasion. And that's awesome.

On to the survey!

The soundtrack of my life:

Opening Credits:
"Hey" - The Movielife

Waking Up:
"Ever Fallen In Love?" - The Buzzcocks

First Day at School:
"I Want It That Way" - Backstreet Boys

Falling in Love:
"Stay Pretty" - Farewell (hahaha. For some reason, that's awesome.)

Losing Virginity:
"It Hasn't Happened Yet" - William Shatner (Oh. My. God. You guys? Best thing EVER!)

Fight Song:
"You Can Be As Loud As the Hell You Want (When You're Makin' Love)" - Avenue Q soundtrack (Admittedly, this would have been better for the one before, but I guess this is the makeup sex.)

Breaking Up:
"Good Intentions" - Toad the Wet Sprocket

Prom:
"Everything's Just Wonderful" - Lily Allen (Prom actually sucked, both times. Well, the dance part. Before and after was fun.)

Life:
"Haunted" - Kelly Clarkson

Mental Breakdown:
"Don't Go Breaking My Heart" - Elton John and Kiki Dee

Driving:
"Standing Still" - Jewel (Well, that just doesn't make sense at all.)

Flashback:
"Better Off" - Ashlee Simpson

Getting Back Together:
"I Won't Stand In Line" - Reba McEntire

Wedding:
"When I Think About Cheatin'" - Gretchen Wilson (Aww, unfortunate.)

Birth of Child:
"You Are So Last Summer" - Taking Back Sunday

Final Battle:
"Bitch" - Meredith Brooks

Death Scene:
"Zoot Suit Riot" - Cherry Poppin' Daddies (Apparently, it's death by swing dancing.)

Funeral Song:
"Come Back to Me" - Plain White Ts

End Credits:
"Never Had a Dream Come True" - S Club 7

My resistance ain't that strong. My mind keeps recreating a life with you alone. And I'm tired of pretending I don't love you anymore.

So, during the first couple weeks of my unemployment, I was literally so depressed I didn't want to listen to music. I don't know why, but I just didn't. And if you know me (or even if you just notice that every one of my entries is song lyrics), you know that's really out of character.

Today, I cleaned my kitchen, did dishes, organized my food cabinet, cooked dinner, ate dinner, and washed more dishes while listening to my Ipod with my awesome headphones. And that made me want to do one of those survey things that tells the story of your life by your Ipod put on random. So I did that. Here is my life in iPod shuffle.

1. IF SOMEONE SAYS "IS THIS OKAY" YOU SAY?
"Let's Take a Ride" -Justin Timberlake (This cracked me up, because I, of course, read it as really dirty. But I guess it could just mean that I wanted to take a road trip.)

2. WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
"Broken" -Seether (That. . .might be the saddest thing ever.)

3. WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
"Rock and Roll Party Queen" - 'Grease' soundtrack. (Right on.)

4. HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
"Jessie's Girl" - Rick Springfield. (I'm not sure if this means that I'm in love with someone who's with someone else or if I'm supposed to BE Jessie's girl, in which case, someone is in love with ME and they think they can't have me. Or something.)

5. WHAT IS YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE?
"Limp" - Fiona Apple (Oh, God. I'm going to be a cripple. . .)

6. WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
"Wanted Dead or Alive" - Bon Jovi

7. WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
"To Be Myself Completely" - Belle & Sebastian (I guess this is a good thing.)

8. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR PARENTS?
"We're Going to Be Friends" - The White Stripes

9. WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
"My Immortal" - Evanescence (I'm not sure what this means, but it sounds deep.)

10. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FIRST LOVE?
"Somebody Told Me" - The Killers (So he's a. . .transsexual person? A cross-dresser? Yikes.)

11. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
"Losing at Life" - Classic Case (Oh my God, that's not true! He WINS at life!)

12. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
"Scream If You Wanna Go Faster" - Geri Halliwell (I'm. . .not touching this one.)

16. WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
"Polite" - Mute Math

17. WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
"Shiver" - Maroon 5

18. WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
"Hate (I Really Don't Like You)" - Plain White Ts (Unfortunate, really.)

19. WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
"Dreaming of You" - The Coral (It's true.)

20. WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
"Beautiful" - Christina Aguilera (It's no secret. Everyone knows.)

21. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
"Boys" - Ashlee Simpson (Generally, yes.)

22. WHAT'S THE WORST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN?
"Don't You Forget About Me" - Simple Minds

23. HOW WILL YOU DIE?
"Miserable at Best" - Mayday Parade (That's the most depressing thing I have ever heard.)

24. DOES ANYONE LIKE YOU?
"Hopelessly Devoted To You" - 'Grease' soundtrack (Sweet.

25. IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN TIME, WHAT WOULD YOU CHANGE?
"Chills" - Ben Lee (I would. . .spend less time cold?)

26. WHAT HURTS RIGHT NOW?
"Giving Up On Love" - The Ataris

Well, that was fun. I'm exhausted for some reason, and I actually have to get up at a certain time tomorrow, so I'll be off.

When they can't find you, I'm sure I'll be the one they blame, but they can't prove anything, Miss California.

So, my sister is basically the coolest person I know. We didn't get along when I was in high school (because, let's face it, I was pretty hateful toward her) but after I left for college and she became a teenager and all that, I realized that if I were still in high school, she'd be the kind of person I'd want to hang out with.

This snippet of conversation is why:

Sarah: Yeah. What I would like to happen is for me to get the SMT job, and so if I run into Vi at the grocery store, I can be like, "Oh, me? Yeah, I'm the editor of two publications. Peace out." "Thank you for firing me and stressing out your entire newsroom so I could go on to much bigger and better things. "

Katie: haha you should rethink the exit. maybe throw some sort of liquid in her face and then be like (our last name) out!

S: YES! I like that. (our last name) out.

K: and do that hand move where you make a sideways peace sign and move it downward violently

S: Awesome. Or, I could just punch her in her face.

K: haha, that could work

S: I like that option.

K: maybe you could do some sort of combination of all of the above? haha

S: "Peace out. (our last name) out!" (liquid throw) (punch).

K: hahaha awesome

S: I now have a game plan.

K: an A+ game plan at that

So yeah. Katie is pretty much more awesome than anyone else I know.

I was oddly productive today, for a Sunday. I spent the morning writing freelance articles about cell phones and the afternoon editing cookbook entries. I don't know if I mentioned that I'm on the committee for this event that takes place around here called the Taste of Chocolate. We're putting together a cookbook and we went through this company that lets you enter them online. As I'm sure you can imagine, people who don't (or didn't) do words for a living might not live up to the standards for publication, so there was some work to be done. But all 150 recipes are finished.

I then went through my recipe file, looking for something relatively inexpensive to make for dinner (since, you know, no income) and I decided on "Zesty Beef-Stuffed Peppers" and "Ranch Smashed Potatoes." Went to the cheapo grocery store to get most of the stuff and then Wal-Mart for the rest. Literally as I'm walking out the door to get my food, my phone rings, and it's one of the people from the TOC committee, saying something about meeting at 7 to finish the cookbook. I was like, ". . ." because I don't remember ever agreeing to this, but considering my general state of mind for the last three weeks or so, it's entirely possible I agreed to it and just forgot. So I went over to her house at 7 and actually had a fun time working on the cookbook. We got everything together and managed to throw both of our names in as chair (her) and co-chair (me). So my name will be printed at least 6 times (including recipes submitted) in at least 400 books. For posterity, or something.

I did, incidentally, get the food for my awesome meal, but I'm going to have to wait until tomorrow to actually make it, since I didn't have the time this evening.

What else?

I have a meeting tomorrow morning with some people. I'm being intentionally vague, because I just don't really want to get into it right now, for whatever reason. It's a good meeting, but I just want to keep the good to myself for now.

I guess that's it.

I always feel like, somebody's watching me.

I should make a real entry, and I will, one of these days, but instead of talking about how much not having a job sucks and how much more Valentine's Day sucks, I'm going to fill out a survey thing I found on facebook.

Fill this out about your SENIOR year of high school! The longer ago it was, the more fun the answers will be!!

1. Did you date someone from your school?
Senior year? Yes. Richard.

2. Did you marry someone from your high school?
Ha! No. I would not marry anyone I went to high school with.

3. Did you car pool to school?
My mom drove me to school, and on the days I didn't have marching band, Jason would drive me home or to work.

4. What kind of car did you have?
I did not have a car. I drove my mother's car when I was allowed.

5. What kind of car do you have now?
What does this have to do with senior year? I have a '97 Honda CRV that I'm suspicious is on its last leg.

6. It's Friday night...where were you?
In the fall, marching band practice/football games. The rest of the time, I went out with Richard a lot. . .when I wasn't grounded.

7. What clubs were you in?
Marching band, regular band (even though it was a class, it was more like a cult), and French club. I was Vice President senior year which meant. . .well, nothing, really. But it was something I could put on my college applications.

8. What kind of job did you have in high school?
I worked at one of the public libraries.

9. What kind of job do you do now?
None. I have none job. Again, what does this have to do with senior year?

11. Were you considered a flirt?
That's a source of contention. I was friends with guys, mainly, and people would tell me I flirted with them, but it's just the way I was/am. So I don't really know.

12. Were you in band, orchestra, or choir?
I've already mentioned that. . .7,000 times. Marching band Wind Ensemble. Not to be confused with concert band.

13. Were you a nerd?
Basically.

14. Did you get suspended or expelled?
No. I was called to the principle's office after this girl threatened to kill me, but other than that, no.

15. Can you sing the fight song?
I don't remember the fight song. We played it every time the football team made a touchdown, but I seem to remember faking my way through most of that, and I never knew the words.

16. Who was/were your favorite teacher(s)?
Mr. Holleman. I freaking loved Mr. Holleman. I still remember things he told us in that class to this day.

17. Where did you sit during lunch?
In the band room, unless I went off-campus.

18. What was your school's full name?
Millbrook High School.

19. When did you graduate?
2003

20. What was your school mascot?
We were the wildcats. *reowr*

21. If you could go back and do it again, would you?
Compared to where I am right now in my life? Hell yes. I had no idea.

22. Did you have fun at Prom?
It wasn't bad. Senior year, I don't think I danced at all, because it was all hip-hop, rap music you can't really dance to anyway. Afterward, we went bowling, which was awesome.

23. Do you still talk to the person you went to Prom with?
Occasionally.

24. Are you planning on going to your next reunion?
Probably not. They had a 5-year last year and I didn't go, because as I put it to anyone who asked, I haven't been out of high school long enough to forget why I couldn't stand most of the people who would, inevitably, be at that reunion. They made a facebook group for it, and everyone who confirmed were the people who were popular, and who are probably still trying to hold on to their high school glory days. So no, I probably won't go to the 10-year.

25. Do you still talk to people from school?
A couple. No more than 5.

I think I'm going to go back to Raleigh now.

For those of you not aware, I'll bring you up to speed.

They fired me yesterday. So the people saying, "Well, at least YOU still have your job," are wrong.

So I'm currently in Raleigh, taking a couple of days, and I find it really interesting how people, my friends and otherwise, have treated me over the last 24 hours. I sent an e-mail to my freelancers, letting them know, and they have all e-mailed me and said how horrible it was, and asked if there was anything they could do for me. Same goes for a couple of friends I have in the community.

As far as my friends, my "friends" at work wouldn't make eye contact with me, except for one, who I've always liked. She also sent me a facebook message. Nick called me back after my initial call to him and I ended up stopping by his house on the way home. Some didn't let the news permeate their day to day existence much, and some have been surprisingly silent on the subject. I think it's those that bother me the most.

Anyway, I'll be here for a couple days, and then we'll figure it out from there.

I always do, don't I?

I killed the lights (pure satisfaction) I killed the lights (lights, camera, action)

I'm updating so people don't think I've jumped out a window.

I think I'm going to take a blogging break because I am so entirely messed up right now, mentally, emotionally, every kind of -ally, and I don't feel like writing and having to pretend I don't feel like I do.

I need to find a new job and get away from this place.  If anyone knows of anything, I'd be more than happy to look into it.  I can't, in good conscience, work for people like this.

They have, unnecessarily and stupidly, laid off my best friend in the office.  I now officially have no one I can talk to, no one I can trust, and no one to look forward to seeing on a daily basis.  I get the impression NJ thinks he's going to step up and fill that space, but I've got some news:  That space can not be filled.  Period.

I can't stop thinking about what this is going to mean for his family.  For his work in general.  The upper management where I work are incompetent, and I don't care that I'm saying it.  Fire me.  Go ahead.  I have a feeling you already know how I feel about you, so it's not like it's a secret.

I did everything humanly possible and in my power to help the job-losing not to take place, and it didn't work.  I feel like I failed so completely and utterly, even though he told me it's better that he doesn't have to work here anymore, because something better is on the horizon.  Or something.  I can't help but think that something better on the horizon doesn't help buy food.  Or pay rent.  Or pay the heat bill.  I can't help, and it makes me so devastatingly sad.  I have cried more in the last 5 days that I have in a lot of my life.  This in concordance with PMSing has effectively depleted my tear ducts.  And yet, somehow, they're still functioning.  Right now.

"But you tried," people say.  "You did everything you could have done.  It wasn't your fault.  It's the economy/bad management practices/the end of the road/etc.  At least you didn't lose YOUR job."

That doesn't make me feel any better.  Especially the last one.  Why the hell would it make me feel better that I have a job when one of my top 3 favorite people in the entire world no longer has one?  WHY should that make me FEEL BETTER?  I don't understand that mentality.  I don't.  And I wish people would stop saying that to me.  STOP SAYING THAT.

I'm going to share something here that is probably entirely too much information and something that a lot of people don't know about me, but that I'm writing about because it's my fucking blog and if makes you uncomfortable, you can stop reading.  It will also maybe help explain where my head is right now.

There was a period of time, during high school and college, where I was a. . .let me look up the term on Wikipedia so I can give it a generic name.  A self-injurer.  That's it.  I won't share my particular form of "self-injuring" here (I had two, actually, and one I still struggle with, but it's more of a compulsive thing than the other one, so I don't really consider it "injuring."  I'm being intentionally vague.)

Anyway, the last time I had a problem with it (an episode, if you will), was my junior year of college.  It became noticeable to this girl I had a date with (a date I, incidentally, ended up never going on.  Long story I'll share if you want, but I don't feel the need to write about it here).  She called me on it, and I thought I hid it better than I apparently did, and that's why I stopped.  Because I didn't want to have to answer questions. 

So last night, I hit a really low point.  I mean low.  I was talking to Nick, and I have a feeling I may have given him reason to believe I'd need someone to come up and stay with me so I didn't. . .do whatever it was I sounded like I was going to do.  I was in the depths, emotionally, mentally, even physically.  I felt ill.  And I wanted to revert back to my old habit.

I'm going to explain here, as clinically as I can, as to not sound like I've lost it.  Because I haven't.  Not yet, at least.  I'm just explaining.  I'm fine right now, as far as all this stuff goes.

For people who are on the outside of "self-injury," it's easy to say, "Man, that's crazy.  You must be crazy.  Why would you do such a thing?"  Because they don't get it.  Through all the different ways people cause harm to themselves, whether it be drinking too much, drug use, eating disorders, cutting, burning, compulsive skin picking, hair pulling, whatever, there is a very easy explanation for it.  I mean, obviously, you get your people who do it for attention.  But for everyone else, it's because, at least in my experience, physical experiences are tangible.

People can't control their heart hurting because of a breakup.  But they can control picking off a scabbed over injury.  People can't control how their head feels when they're depressed.  But they can control whether or not the keep down food they've eaten or the amount they eat. Sometimes, the depression in your head is so much, you feel like there's nowhere else for the intensity of the feelings to go.  But if you were to intentionally cut your skin, it's another outlet and the pain can be diverted somewhere else, from emotional to physical.

Obviously, I don't have experience with all of these.  But I'm guessing that they're all very similar, interconnected, and they all have the same basic end result.

What I'm incredibly proud of at this point is that I didn't give in.  I thought, "Sarah, no.  That?  Will get you nowhere.  It will do absolutely no good.  You're still going to feel just as crappy in the head.  Don't go down that road again."

And I didn't.  I thought a good diversion would be alcohol.  But I didn't go down that road, either.  All in all, I'm thinking maybe I'm stronger than I thought I was.  But that doesn't change the fact that I'm in a place right now when I even considered it.

I don't know why, exactly, I'm in the place I'm in right now.  I know bits and pieces of it, but there's more to it.  But what I do know is that while I'm going through this, wherever it takes me, I've got at least one person who I know beyond a shadow of a doubt will be there for me if I need it.  Everyone's got their stuff, and I know that he's got stuff in his own life that's hard on him, maybe even stuff that feels impossible, but every time I've had moments in my life like this, whenever I've begun to seriously question my own sanity, it seems like my friends always. . .well, in my experience, they either avoid me or later, they bring it up again and use it against me.  And I know he won't do that.

I love you.  I love you so much, you don't even know.  Maybe because I don't tell you.  Maybe I should.

Please don't comment on this entry.  This one doesn't need them.

Maybe I'll be back soon.  Maybe I won't.  We'll see.

But I do love you.

We're going down, down in an earlier round, and Sugar, we're going down swinging. . .

Today was an eye-opening day.  

I was going to go into extreme detail here, but I've decided not to.  The long and the short of it is, I'm in for, not exaggeration, one of the biggest fights of my life.  I don't know how it's going to end, but the stakes?  They're high.  I'm. . .vaguely concerned that my job could be at stake here, but if it works, even if my job is some of the collateral damage here, it'll be worth it.  Entirely worth it.

What I have done this evening, in essence, is set into motion something that may or may not get me to my ultimate goal.  It's also entirely possible it will get me. . .sent to the poverty line, but sometimes in life, you have to decide what is and is not worth the risk.  And this particular cause, I feel very strongly about.

I've been fighting with God a lot recently.  That sounds kind of weird, but I've had a lot of really weird/bad/frightening/worrisome things happening to me recently, and I just wanted to know why.

Most people who know me think that I don't believe in God.  That's actually not true at all.  I believe very much that God, in some form or another, is there.  It's the whole Jesus thing I don't really buy.  I guess I am, in essence, kind of Jewish.  I've said that before.  I have a very real fear of God, in whatever form he's in.  What I don't believe in is the whole construction of God that Christianity has made.  It doesn't make sense to me.

What I'm saying here is that I believe in. . .something.  I also believe that when we die, we aren't necessarily just dead and gone.  I feel like there's something left behind.  It's that particular belief that keeps me from feeling like I'm crazy when I talk to my aunt, who died in 2006.  

That has a legit correlation with what I was talking about, because my point is that talking to God, to me, is like talking to my aunt.  I have no real proof that God's there or that any part of my aunt is there, but I still feel like someone's listening to me when I'm talking.

OK.  Upon looking back on this, I may sound like I've lost a couple of my marbles, and that nothing I'm saying has to do with anything.  Aside from an insight into my beliefs, religious and otherwise, I'm going to say that if you're the praying kind, I could use it in the next couple of days.  One of the most important people in my life needs it, too.  I am legitimately afraid I could become unemployed by this time next week, and if you're not the praying kind, just think about me occasionally, OK?  Also my person.  He definitely needs it, and I could potentially need it.

I'm scared, but I'm ready to take whatever consequences might come from my actions.

Thanks, guys.  Sorry I haven't made a lot of sense.

It felt so wrong, it felt so right (don't mean I'm in love tonight. . .)

Been a few days.  I've been. . .monstrously busy at work, and then I get home and I think to myself, "Self, you should blog."  And Self says to me, "But Sarah, wouldn't it make more sense to have a glass of wine and watch Friends?"  And then I realize how practical I am.

But really and truly, I've been working really hard.  And I've also been going to the gym!  Which, you know, is kind of an uphill battle for me.  I'm always glad I went when I go, but it's the getting there part that's so tough.  I went both Monday and Wednesday, and if I go tomorrow, I can make it into kind of a 3-4 times a week thing, and that'll be good.  (I say 3-4 because I can go on a weekend day, too.  I just won't be doing it Saturday because I have plans for. . .most of the day.)

Saturday, Carol and I are going to go to the Biltmore and drink.  They have a winery there, and she and I both have passes, so we're not actually paying anything.  It's a win-win-(win), in all actuality.  Then there's this poetry reading thing at a bookstore in Asheville that I put in the calendar that seemed like it could be interesting, so I'm going to go to that.

Then Sunday, I'll probably put in a few hours at work (so this Monday isn't like last Monday), and then either go to the party one of the guys at work is having for the Super Bowl or go to Carrie and Frank's church for what sounds like an ungodly amount of chicken wings.  We'll see.  I think everything'll depend on what time things start.

It was. . .brought to my attention today that I'm becoming one of those friends that pop up in your buddy list, and you hope they don't talk to you.  (No, it wasn't actually said like that.  Because that would be horrible.)  But I realize that there are certain problems that certain people get to hear about.  You know, like, one person is the "oh my God, I have no money" friend, and one person is the "relationship issues" friend, and one person is the friend with whom I only discuss superficial things and one person gets all of my family drama. . .that kind of thing.  I do have a couple instances where those things overlap, and a person or two gets more than one,  but I feel like I'm subconsciously doing that so I don't overload any one person with everything so it doesn't happen that they don't like me anymore.  It also prevents people from getting too close, you know?  Because. . .well, that's just how I am.

So!  I'm going to go back to zero.  It's entirely possible that problems are better left unsaid, and that if I want to bitch about something, I should. . .actually, I don't know.  I'd say "blog about it," but I don't want this to become "Oh, Sarah has woes!" any more than it already has.  Maybe I'll go back to the livejournal and put them all on "for my eyes only" or whatever that category is called.  I think that's actually what I'm going to do.  That way, I get the writing about it out, and people don't have to listen to me.  Again, win-win(win).

I don't know if anyone's seen the movie "Proof," but it's based on a play that I've decided to try out for.  There are two female characters, and I'd love to get either one.  Obviously, I want to lead (who wouldn't?), but I'd like the part of the sister, too.  She has a similar personality type to me, and she has fewer lines, which would say possibly that work wouldn't get SO much in the way.  We'll see.  I know better than to go into it saying, "Oh, yeah.  I'm a shoe-in.  I'm SO going to get either parts."  We have a lot of talent around here and the shows at this theatre are usually really good.  But we'll see.

This week's issue of my publication is going to be centered around Girl Scout cookies, which I think has the potential for some really cool centerspread art.  Although, come to think of it, maybe I shouldn't go to Super Bowl parties and. . .no.  I'm going to cut myself off there mid-sentence.  I am limiting myself to three hours on Sunday.  That's it.  I'll go in 1-ish, leave 4-ish, and be done with it.  Last weekend, when I didn't go in at all, aside from causing a minor meltdown Monday, it was wonderful.  I'd forgotten what weekends were like.  They're there for a reason, which is to prevent you from burning out, which I feel I am dangerously close to doing.  Maybe I'll take a personal day next week.

Actually, that sounds like a really good idea.  I won't have taken any in January.  I have 5 personal and 10 vacation days, so that's 15 (obviously).  Maybe I just need a real day off.  And maybe I'll take one.  That's what they're there for, right?

Going to go attempt to sleep.  I'd slept for, like, 3 nights in a row without any help, and then I had a night of tossing and turning, so I started with the PM pills again.  I got home too late to take them this evening (I got home at 11:30 after a basketball game with Carrie and then a few minutes hanging out at her house) and since the pills take about an hour to kick in for me and you're supposed to get 8 hours or so of sleep after taking them, I don't like to take them too late.

Also, they've been giving me really weird, really scary dreams.  So I'm thinking it's time to lay off of them anyway.

Hey, kid. Good morning. You look like an angel. I don't remember when we fell asleep. Better get up, kid. Cathy is waiting. . .

Went to a high school basketball game tonight.  We lost by one point, and that was. . .well, even I was screaming by the end of the game.

There was a guy behind me that. . .apparently, I always end up sitting in front of (or standing beside at football games) the loudest, most annoying redneck in the bunch.  This guy was literally screaming the en. tire. time.  It was physically hurting my ears.  He was yelling at the boys, yelling at the refs, yelling at. . .everyone.  I had my finger plugging up my right ear for most of the game.  So I was really freaking sick of him screaming in my ear, and at one particular point, he yelled really loudly, and I yelled, too.  I don't remember what I said, but it was indicative of me not being pleased with my ear being yelled in.  This guy puts his hand on my shoulder (False, sir.  Do not touch me.  I do not like being touched.) and says, "Sorry about your ear, Darlin'.  But this is why you pay the money to see the game, Baby."

First of all, no.  I do not spend money to see basketball games to yell at the refs.  (I actually don't spend money to see them at all, because I have a press pass.)  Secondly, if you have never had a conversation with me and do not know my name, do.  Not.  call me Baby.  I am not your baby.  You have not earned the right to call me by anything except my name.  

Up until the point I was a. . .junior in high school, I hated it when ANYONE called me Baby or any derivative thereof.  Baby, Babe, Babydoll, whatever.  I hated it.  I hated it with a fiery vengeance.  And because I was friends with a bunch of douchebags, as soon as my guy friends found that out, that's what they called me.  My name ceased being Sarah and I was from that point on known as Baby.

As in, walking down the hall, "Hey, Baby!  You have the Algebra notes?"  "Where do you want to go to lunch today, Baby?"  "That history test is a killer, Baby!"

You get the picture.

They did it so much, I just got accustomed to it.  And by the time I started dating Richard junior year and that's how he generally referred to me, I found I rather liked it.  It's affectionate and cute, I think. 

However.  I was not dating this redneck behind me.  So it irked me that he touched me (strike one) and then called me by a cutesy nickname.

I need to go to the rec center tomorrow.  I really need to.  I just. . .it's hard to motivate myself.  Especially when I have a house that badly needs to be cleaned and work that badly needs to be done.  (Because of Christmas Sunday.  Yes, Christmas.  No, I don't want to talk about it.)

I also really need to write.  I've got this novel in my head.  It's an entire story, from beginning to end, but I don't have the time to sit down and write it.  I don't have the time and ENERGY to sit down and write it.  But I want to.  I need to get it down.

I'm going to see The Last 5 Years tomorrow.  I'm going by myself which. . .sucks a little, but I really want to see it, so it's OK.  I'd asked MK to come with me, but he already had something else he was doing.  And I can't go Sunday, because of Christmas.  I listened to the soundtrack on the way to the basketball game and I cried the entire way.  

Remember the thing I wrote about how, when I was younger, I used to watch the saddest part of "Follow That Bird," and just cry and cry?  And my mother worried she was raising a masochist?  These days, I keep doing that to myself.  I'm especially bad for it watching Grey's Anatomy and listening to The Last 5 Years soundtrack.  I've been really emotional lately for. . .a myriad of reasons, really.  

Actually, I'm wondering if I should even go to the show.  I love it, but I'll be there alone, and I'll probably cry through the show and all the way home, and most likely when I get home, too.  I don't know if I need to do that to myself at this particular point in time.  

I have. . .a lot of stuff going on at the moment.  I'm not talking about it because I just don't even know myself where I am in it all.  (No, that's not true.  I talked to KentuckyNicholas the other night because I was about to lose my mind and I needed to talk to SOMEONE who wasn't involved in the problems I'm having and who was a completely unbiased point of view.  It made me feel better to talk about it, but I didn't actually come to any grand conclusions, which led to the first part of my day being really sad.

As for now, though, I'm going to finish watching "Halloween" and go to bed.  And try to sleep.  Which actually probably won't happen.  

I should add that it's at the part of the movie that the two characters just had, apparently, a lot of sex, and that just brings to light the fact that I'm going to be. . .well, I'm probably going to be spending my Friday nights exactly like I am right now, alone watching other people get it on in scary movies, indefinitely.  That's. . .it's just a little sad to me is all.

I guess it's some consolation that everyone who gets lucky in this movie is killed.

Been alone since you were 21. You haven't laughed since January. You try and make like this is so much fun, but we know it to be quite contrary.

I have been working.  my.  ASS OFF this week, and I've been doing a good job.  I wrote a front page story about a stupid blood drive that I think turned out better than expected.  I laid out the Lifestyles pages on Tuesday because Jeff made it sound like he was covered in 900 things he had to do, and I was trying to be helpful.

The next day, Vi come in here and tells me she had given him that much to do because she notices that he spends a lot of time doing nothing and screwing around.  She said I was "enabling him."

Well excuse the fuck out of me.  I guess I'm just going to not try to be helpful anymore.  Otherwise known as "stop offering to do things for people because they are most likely trying to take advantage of me, and I let them, because I"m an idiot."

He also let her think he'd done the pages.  It wasn't until I said something about how I couldn't proof them because I'd done them that she realized what I'd been doing all day.  When I mentioned it to Jeff, he said something to the effect of, "Of course I told her I'd done it."  Or something like that.  And that burned me.

That, of course, is why I made sure that she knew I'd done it.  Because I might be a little too trusting, but I'm not stupid. 

It's like in high school.  I was dating Richard, and he'd come over to hang out for the day.  He got a phone call, which he took outside, and then came back in and told me that it was his father who had called, and his father needed him to come home and "help him move his office."

I should note here that Richard lied to me on a fairly regular basis, so I knew what to look for.  What I said, though, was, "OK, baby.  Tell your dad I said hi."  He left.  I waited a few hours, then called his house.  His mom answered, and I said, "Hey, (whatever her name was.  I don't remember).  Is Richard there?"  She said, "Hi, Sarah.  I. . .thought he was with you."  And I said, "Oh, no.  He left a couple of hours ago, because he said (his dad's name) needed help moving his office.  I was just wondering if they'd gotten back yet."  She paused and said, "No.  He hasn't gotten back yet.  Would you like me to have him call you?"  I said, "No.  I don't actually, but thanks!"

Later that night, he did end up calling me, and it turns out I'd gotten him into huge trouble with his parents.  Which . . . was the point, obviously.  I asked him why he'd lied to me, and he said he didn't know.

All that to say, if you're going to pull something like that on me, I'm going to make good and sure you're found out.  You might screw me over, but I'll make sure you screw yourself over as well.  Maybe that sounds vindictive, but I like to think of it as a "reap what you sow" kind of circumstance.

Also, Vi comes into my office this morning and tells me that "no one else" is available to go to this boring-sounding business meeting this evening, and that I need to cover it.  I'd been planning on writing the freelance articles I do on the side so I can afford to eat due to the paltry salary I receive here tonight, but now, I get to take notes on a business meeting.  YAY!

I need to go see The Last 5 Years at some point this weekend.  Maybe I'll go Saturday?  I just can't let what I would probably consider my favorite show ever to come and go without seeing it, even if it is just being put on by a smallish college.  I listened to the soundtrack for an entire day last week, and I was thoroughly depressed by it.  I love it, but it's sad.

It's kind of like how I keep watching those two episodes of Grey's Anatomy that make me cry every time.  Maybe I'm a masochist.  Maybe I'm a control freak and, rather than letting completely outside circumstances make me cry, I put myself into a situation where I know I'll cry, but I kind of have control over it.  I don't. . .actually know.

I had a whole other thing I was going to go into, but instead, I'm going to go have lunch.

Could it be you? I've been searching so hard to find. (Tell me how could I have been so blind.)

So in general, this day was one made of suck.

I was relatively pleased with my publication today.  I wrote a story about a massage place that I'm considering going to.  I've never had a real massage, and I feel like I desperately need one.  She's got a $15 discount going on because of Valentine's Day, and I might actually be able to afford it with the $15 off.  I'll be getting paid Friday, and I'll have another pay day before Feb. 14, so if I put half of the cost in the bank this Friday and then the other half in next Friday, I can probably afford it by the time the week of the 14th rolls around.

I was just. . .I was in the same funk today that I was in last night.  People were. . .I don't want to say they were picking on me, because that sounds like I'm 5, but they were.  NewJeff was working my nerves in a particularly annoying manner.  

There was. . .something I was looking forward to all day, that I anticipated getting at the end of the workday, and I didn't.  That. . .you know when you're really looking forward to something, and then it ends up not panning out or whatever, and it just. . .I can't really describe it.  It made me a lot sadder than it should have.  It would have helped my mood exponentially.  But you know.  Can't always get what you want.  And I can deal with it like a big girl.

So I drive home and, thanks to the snow and the slick roads, I end up sliding right before I get to my house, and I hit a light pole.  I was able to turn the wheel so I didn't hit it dead on, but I was sliding at a fairly good clip when I hit it.  I heard a loud bang as the side of my car hit it, but as far as I can tell, I didn't do any damage.  And, I mean, I'm OK and everything.  It was just. . .it was annoying more than anything.  And I hit the thing and said, "Of course.  Of.  Course."

I get inside and think, no, I'm not going to have mac and cheese like I'd originally planned.  I decided to make breakfast for dinner.  I knew I had either pancakes or waffles in my freezer (which, incidentally, I had both) and I'd just bought some eggs and shredded cheese.

Incidentally, I bought the eggs because I told MK I had eggs in my fridge, but they were sell by August something, and he said, "Well, what if you get drunk one night and decide you want eggs?  You'll die."

I told him at the time that, for one, I never make eggs when I'm drunk.  Also, I've never been drunk enough to make eggs with really old eggs.

Regardless, after that conversation, I threw out the old eggs and bought some new ones.  When I went to get some eggs to make my patented Awesome Cheesy Scrambled Eggs, I opened the carton and made a startling revelation.  The bag I dropped taking my groceries out of the car on Saturday?  Of course, contained the eggs.  Three of them had broken, and I broke another one trying to get it unstuck from the carton.  I started out with a dozen eggs, and ended up with 8 I was able to use.  I won't repeat what I said at that point.  It wasn't very ladylike.

The upshot of this, however, is that I did make my Awesome Cheesy Scrambled Eggs (made with my secret ingredient that I think only Nick knows about.  And no.  The secret ingredient is not cheese.), along with mini pancakes complete with sliced strawberries (the last of the ones I bought the other day) and honey.  And wine.  I'm aware that wine is not typically what one eats with breakfast, but after this day?  I think I deserved it.  The only thing that would have made the meal complete would have been if I'd had sausage.  I do love sausage.

Now, I'm just waiting for Gossip Girl to come on.  I'm hoping that sleep comes more easily this evening than it did last night, because I tossed and turned for hours, even with the aid of Faux Tylenol PM.  I'm worried that it's not having the proper effect anymore, and that I'm just going to be screwed when it comes to taking things to help me sleep.  I refuse to take. . .what is it?  Ambien?  Because people walk (and drive!) in their sleep while on that, and I would be the person that would happen to.

I think I'm actually going to have a salad now.  Again, doesn't go with breakfast, but I'm still hungry.

I don't want to wait for our lives to be over. I want to know right now what could it be.

I am in such a funk.

I was in a normal mood this morning.  I talked to Karen for a while.  I watched the two-part episode of Grey's Anatomy that never fails to make me cry (and cried).  I had two giant cups of coffee.  And then I went to work.

The mood didn't really hit me at work, either.  I got the calendar pages done, which are my most hated pages in the thing.  Dennis came in with Kelly, and while I probably should have kept working, I played with her instead.  That was my own fault, but she's just a fun kid, and I am almost incapable of telling her no, I'm working and I can't play with you right now.  Because it's. . .it's an amazing thing when you've got this person, even a little person, constantly telling you that they love you, and that they like playing with you. . .that you're cool?  I don't know.  Maybe it sounds really pathetic that I like getting validation from someone 20 years younger than me, but. . .I can't explain it.  I guess it's that kids don't lie.  I mean, if they have no reason to.  If you catch them doing something they shouldn't be doing, they'll lie, but they won't walk up to you and say, "Hey.  I like you," if they don't, like adults will.  It's the little things in life.

I'm sorry.  I'm just in a really weird mood.

MK called me when I was about to leave work and could tell I was in a funk.  To cheer me up, he read me this kiddie book called "Silly Sara," and it was. . .really, really cute.  Not the book itself, but that he read it.  I don't know.  It made me smile, and I think that's what he was going for.  I looked the book up on Amazon.com when I got home, and it looks cute (I liked the drawings.)  See what I mean about the little things in life?

I'm dreading going into work tomorrow.  Not because I have an overwhelming amount of work to do.  I can handle the work.  I just. . .it's a funk!  I wish I could blame it on "that time of the month," but that was last week.  I have nothing to blame it on except not wanting to do anything but stay in bed, curled up with. . .a person, napping and watching stupid TV.  That's what I want to do right now.  I've got the bed, I've got the stupid TV, but I'm alone.  I'm always alone.

I had a woman come in for an interview the other day and she has a massage place, and even though I think it's vaguely overpriced, I'm thinking of calling her and making an appointment.  I've been so tense recently, and not for any good reason.  My job isn't stressing me out like it used to, my boss generally leaves me alone (except for the moments she makes me want to throw myself out the window) and. . .I don't know.  I'm going into one of those places where I want a change.  Usually, I do something to my hair when I get in these moods, but I don't have enough of it left to do anything to it.

I think I'm lonely today.  Maybe that's what it is.

I'm going to stop being a bummer, because this entry has been nothing but a woe is me.  I'll try to be in better spirits before I write again.

My body is callin' out for you, bad boy. I get the feeling that I just want to be with ya.

I have several different stories I could start this post out with, but I feel absolutely compelled to share what I've been doing for the last 20 minutes or so.  

I'm warning you now, this is going to be long.  Don't start reading if you're going to be easily bored or if you don't want to hear about the weird, scary things diabetes does to me.

Every now and again, I check craigslist for freelance work.  I realized that I go to the same post areas every time I go (art/media/design, part-time, education, wanted, creative, and writing) and I'd never really paid much mind to anything else on the site.

Well.

I went into the "personals" section, and I have been through a few pages on misc. romance, casual encounters, missed connections, rants and raves, women seeking women, and women seeking men.  (Honestly, I'm a little afraid of the men seeking men and men seeking women sections.  I'm not entirely sure why, but I feel like I'd be scandalized and horrified by what I'd find.  I'm already a little scandalized and horrified by what I HAVE found.)

The casual encounters section, by far, is the most interesting.  I just don't understand the. . .the concept, really, of posting on here, looking for sex, whether it's a one time thing, a recurring event, whatever.  I suppose one could argue that it's very similar to online dating (which, as you all know, has NOT been something that worked out for me).  But. . .I don't know, man.  I can't see putting up an ad saying something like, "Hey!  Want to have sex?  Send me a picture!"  I guess if I were desperate (and unafraid) I might consider something like that, but I can't see EVER being that desperate.  I've been holding out for. . .24 years, so I think that my desperation has probably plateaued, and I never EVER got the urge to ask strangers to service me.

The funny thing about these is that I'm generally looking at the ones from my county and there are a. . .surprising amount of people looking for gay hookups.  I mean, I know there have to be gay people around here, but you just don't really hear from them.  I guess that's why they're looking on craigslist.  I have also seen. . .more penises than I'd care to admit.  If I were into porn, I could just get it here.  There was also a woman who posted pictures of herself. . .servicing a gentleman caller, and I KNOW I've seen that woman before, but I just don't remember where.  If I ever see her again, I'm probably going to laugh.  In Raleigh, I could see posting pictures of yourself or your junk, because it's unlikely that any random person would see you and run into you on the street and recognize you.  But this is a small town.  It is a conglomeration of small towns, and I would never do something like that, not only because I'm not into that kind of thing, but SOMEONE would be bound to recognize me.  Especially considering my job.

Anyway, some of my favorites from my town thus far have been the "Cop looking for a good time" who said, "hey guys!  hot average build white male, 6 ft tall brown eyes black hair.  6 to 7 inches cut.  cop in training so im fairly good shape, looking for guys in the the 20's near (my town) to have a good time tonight.  im straight but curious.  hit me up!"  Then there's "Hey, let's relax together" and it says "HI.  One of my biggest fantasies is getting up with a friend, laying him down, and slowly stripping him as I give him a massage, making sure to hit all the most tense areas with some oral techniques.  I don't expect anything in return.  Think you might be that friend I'm looking for?  If so, hit me up and we'll make it happen."  That was also in my town.  All I'm saying, I guess, is that I dated Richard for a year and a half and didn't sleep with him, so I don't understand the concept of advertising for some random person.  

So my day.

My alarm went off at 10:30.  MK called me at 10:45.  I lounged in bed until 11:30 or so, chit-chatting.  I decided not to be entirely lazy today, so I got ready to go to the rec center.  My shower still wasn't working, so I took all my shower stuff with me to just take a shower there.  It made sense.

I ellipticaled, "ran," and machined for 45 minutes or so.  I feel like such a loser when I hear people like my friend Carol say, "Yeah, I was at the Y for 2 hours."  I'm thinking. . .what the hell do you do for 2 hours?  I'm saying an hour tops.  Maybe because I'm. . .not the gym-going type?  I don't know.  So after all that, I go get a shower.  I had, in fact, forgotten what it was like to take a public place shower.  I felt like I was either at camp or in college again.  It was not an altogether pleasant feeling.

So after the shower, I had one of my "episodes."  I have two kinds of these.  The first one I haven't had since I left Raleigh (thank God), but it's when my blood sugar goes dangerously low overnight, and I don't wake up unless woken up.  The last time this happened to me, I was hours late for work because my blood sugar had gone so low, my alarm didn't wake me up.  My dad always left before I did, so he didn't think anything of the fact that I wasn't up when he left.  My mom called me like 5 times before the phone woke me up and I answered.  My job had called me, my temp agency had called me. . .none of it woke me up.  When I was finally roused from my being passed out (there's a fine line, I've found, between being asleep and being passed out.) my blood sugar was, like, 20.  Luckily, this hasn't happened since I've lived here.  I'm super careful to eat something before I go to bed so it DOESN'T happen, but I'm continually scared that it's going to happen, and no one's going to realize that I'm. . .essentially passed out.  And then I will die.  And no one will know.

But anyway.

It happened once in college, senior year.  I went to bed at midnight and didn't wake up again until 5:30 the next day.  When I came out of it, I was actually getting out of the shower.  I don't remember getting INTO the shower, so that was particularly scary.  I also missed a fraternity meeting, but when I explained what had happened, it was excused.  But really?  I took an entire freaking shower, and washed my hair without being conscious of it.  I think the only reason I came out of it was because I had (thankfully) detached my insulin pump before getting in the shower, so that probably helped my blood sugar to rise.  

It's like being in a daze.  You really feel like you've lost hours of your life, because you have.  I lost that entire Sunday.  And I don't know why it happens. 

The kind I had today is ever so slightly less scary, but still vaguely terrifying.  What happens is, I feel like I'm getting overheated, and I start to black out.  Like, I can see blackness creeping in from the corners of my eyes, and if I don't sit down, it's entirely possible that I'll hit the floor. It seems like this happens to me most often when I'm in the shower, and I hypothesize that it has something to do with the hot water.  Probably the reason diabetics aren't supposed to get into hot tubs and saunas (I did hit the floor in a sauna once.  That's actually kind of gross, but it happened.  I never again ignored that sign that said diabetics should not use the sauna.)  The last time this happened to me, I was in the shower, but I was at home, so it wasn't so bad.  I just laid on my little sofa until the overpowering blackness went away.  The time before that, it happened in the newsroom.  If I remember correctly, Dennis and Kim were there, and I may have worried them a little.  The time before THAT was actually at graduation.  I was walking toward my seat and I literally could not see where I was walking, because. . . I couldn't see.  There was literally blackness closing over my eyes, and it was all I could do to walk straight.  And I was wearing heels.  I had to sit down when I got to my seat, despite the fact that everyone else was still standing.  That was really scary, because there was the potential for me to pass out in front of thousands of people.  I didn't, luckily.

So today, I got through the shower, and decided to get dressed in the stall, because there were children running around the changing area, and I felt creepy walking out in a towel.  I managed to get my shirt on before I got really, really dizzy.  The overheated dizzy that goes along with one of these "episodes."  Luckily, the shower was one of those with. . .there's the shower, and there's a curtain in front of it, and then there's a little area with a bench-looking thing, and a curtain in front of THAT as well.  I wrapped my towel around my waist and sat down on that bench thing, putting my head on my knees.  I felt like the room was spinning, and I was honestly afraid I was about to pass out.  I didn't know where to go for help because, for one, I'm wearing a shirt and a towel, and for another, I couldn't stand up without feeling like I was going to fall down.  I could feel the blackness creeping over my eyes, and I would be DAMNED if I was going to pass out in a public shower.

So I sat there for. . .however long (The entirety of this story took place between 1:08 and 1:53.  I know this because when I put my insulin pump back in, having taken it off to take the shower, it was suspended at 1:08 and when I unsuspended it, it was 1:53.)  I felt a little better, and decided to try to make it out to the changing area/locker room.  I didn't attempt to put my jeans on, because I didn't want to overexert myself.  I made it. . .to the bench about 5 steps outside the shower before I had to sit down again.  Again, I had to put my head on my knees.  I was seriously overheated, and I couldn't walk straight.  After an undetermined amount of time, I decided to try again.  This time, I made it to where the bathroom stalls were (about 25 paces away), and I had to make the choice again to either sit down or fall down.  I chose to sit down.  Unfortunately, I chose to sit down in a stall where someone had, for some reason completely unbeknownst to me, thrown a really, really dirty diaper away in those little things intended to throw away feminine hygiene product wrappers.  Thanks to this, I gagged every time I tried to take a deep breath to clear my head.  I tried putting the towel around my just-washed hair over my face so I could breathe, but the smell of the flower shampoo I'd used made me even more dizzy.  It was a lose-lose.  Really, a true comedy of errors.  If it weren't so utterly terrifying, it would have been. . .a little funny.  I'm sure I'll find it at least mildly humorous one of these days.

So I'm sitting there, really thinking I'm going to either A) die, B) pass out, or C) pass out, catch some gross disease from a bathroom floor, and then die.  I put my head between my knees, trying to breathe and not gag or get dizzy, and I notice something very odd.  I don't know if this has happened to me every time I've had one of these "episodes," but my feet were. . .purple.  They were swollen and purple and you could see every cute shoe-induced scar I've got on them.  Also the scar from the removal of the tumor thing.  Every little imperfection on my feet was very pronounced, but what really concerned me was the color.  They were honest to God purple, with weird white spots along the arches.  I'm wondering if this could give me some insight into why this happens, or what exactly is happening when this happens.  But they were gross-looking.  I mean, more gross-looking than feet usually are.

After what had to have been 25 minutes or so, I was finally able to get up, get my jeans on, and walk out to where my locker was.  I got my stuff together VERY slowly, didn't bother to dry my hair (like I needed more heat pointed straight at my head), and left.  When I walked outside, the sun seemed oddly bright.  It hurt my eyes.  This may have been thanks to the "episode."  I sat in my car for a while before leaving, not wanting to, you know, pass out behind the wheel.  I felt better by this point, though, so after returning Carol's message she'd left, I headed out to get groceries.

I now have legit groceries in my house, and I will be bringing my lunch EVERY DAY this week (except Tuesday, where I'm going to a luncheon.  Not just a lunch.  A luncheon.  I'm going to have to be "business professional" that day.  And I will be lunching on quiche.)  And I have dinner, probably, too.  Unless I get the urge to go out for dinner one night or something.

Then I met up with Carol, and we walked Main Street a little while (in the FREAKING cold), went to a little store I'd told her about, and then went to a little bookstore where we had awesome, AWESOME tea.  Then she went to an engagement dinner she had tonight, and I went to Zaxby's (because they have my boneless wing meal back again.  LOVE!) and then to Wal-Mart, because I was having this mad cherry pie craving like you would not BELIEVE.  So I got a cherry pie.

And now, here I am, looking at the freaks on craigslist.  I also got to talk to Karen, which was cool.  We were able to catch up (since we hadn't talked in a while) and all is good in the world.  I've had 2 glasses of wine, and it's about bed time for me.

It's been snowing this evening, and I'm hoping the roads aren't horrible so I can go into work tomorrow and not have to work a crazy day Monday.

Oh, and if you're wondering?  My shower is working again.  So that's good at least.

Mr. Photographer, I think I'm ready for my close up tonight. (Make sure you catch me from my good side. Pick one.)

I want someone to remind me, come this summer when I'm complaining about the heat, of today, Jan. 16, 2009, when I woke up, walked out of my nice, warm room into my den, and could see my breath in the air.  I still maintain that I'd rather be cold than hot (my rationale being, you can always put on more clothes, but there's only so much you can take off) but my GOD, it's cold.

Apparently, my pipes are frozen or a pipe is frozen or something, because when I turned on the shower this morning (hoping for a brief reprieve from the cold by the way of a really, REALLY hot shower), a few drops of freezing cold water dripped out. . .and that was it.  I said. . .well, what I said wasn't particularly lady-like, but then I realized that every other source of water in my apartment worked just fine (bathroom sink, toilet, kitchen sink) but it was just that one.  Of course.  If it's not functioning by the time I get home tonight, I'll probably have to see if I can take a shower at Carrie's.  But that was just annoying.

And then!  I'd almost forgotten about this, but I was really glad today that my epic, extreme fear of birds, which has since been basically dissuaded, isn't as bad as it used to be, because while I was locking the door to my apartment, I heard a faint rustling at the bottom of the Stairway of Doom.  My first thought was, "Great.  Crazy Lady's outside, and I'm going to have to talk to her/be yelled at by her/have her tell me how I'm the noisiest tenant ever/etc.  I'm not in the mood for this."

So I started down the stairs and stopped when I realized there was a bird sitting on the very bottom stair, giving me a "You lookin' at me?" kind of look.  Seriously, it looked pissed.  The door was closed, so the best I can figure is that my neighbor inadvertently let the bird in last night when he came in and closed the door behind him.  

I'm having this stand-off with this bird.  It's looking at me, I'm looking at it.  I take a step down the stairs, and he FREAKS OUT, flapping and flying everywhere.  I'm reminded of why I was so afraid of birds.  He lands on the door frame (I'm still not sure how he was holding on, actually) and stands there looking at me again.  I take another step, and he freaks out again.  I duck and cover, because I don't care what you say, I remain convinced that it is possible for a bird to decide to attack a person.

I finally decide that going to work is a good option for the day, man up, duck and cover, and take the rest of the stairs.  Quickly.  Bird FREAKS OUT and flies past my head, up the stairs, as I take a flying leap out the door.  I left the door open so he could get out, though.  I just hope he didn't scare the bejeezus out of my neighbor.

I have not gotten nearly enough work done today, which is why I'll probably be here for another hour or so.  Friday is the day I should get the most done, but I just wasn't feeling it today.  I'll come in either tomorrow or Sunday (probably Sunday, so I have some company) and then finish everything on Monday (deadline day).  I hate how lame my cover stories have been here recently, but I've got a cool Girl Scout cookie one coming up in a couple weeks, and when the spring and summer months finally hit, I'll have events to put on the front.  

Coming up, I also have the bridal tab (March), Home and Garden (April), Graduation (June) and Choose to Refuse in August.  I've never been much for looking in the long-term, but I got the schedule yesterday, and I know if I don't start thinking about them now, I won't remember, and the deadlines will sneak up on me.

OK, so I'm home now after, like, 7 hours.  Carrie and I went to IHOP for dinner, and I actually ended up bringing the copy of my publication with the column I wrote about that IHOP and giving it to the manager.  As it turned out, a couple that was there at the same time Carrie and I were had told the manager about the article.  It's amazing how stuff like that happens.  I, occasionally, love my job.

Some stuff has been going on recently that has brought me, in a rather violent fashion, into remembering aspects of my childhood that I hadn't thought about, hadn't cared to think about, for quite some time.  (That sounds more dramatic than I needed it to.  I'm not talking about any kind of weird abuse or anything in my past.  There was none.  I'm talking more on an emotional level.)  I've thought about stuff and remembered things and actually, that in combination with that short story I found the other night, has made me write again.  Fiction, I mean.  I started writing another short the other night, and it's a lot slower goings than writing used to be for me, but that's because fiction hasn't been something I've been focusing on, I think.  I may put it up after I finish it.  Possibly.  

It's 8 degrees outside right now.  And, incidentally, my shower is still not working.  I'm going to have to go elsewhere for my shower tomorrow.  Probably to Carrie's.

I'm going to head to bed.