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.

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.

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.