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.

I think I've already lost you. I think you're already gone. I think I'm finally scared now. You think I'm weak; I think you're wrong.

I feel like I've been very productive today, and I've only been out of bed for, like, 5 minutes when I went to get cereal. And a diet Mountain Dew. The breakfast of champions.

This is a Sunday that I'm actually not going into work, which is an abnormal occurrence to say the least. I did, however, get work done, as I sent e-mails to people about future issues I'm planning. (Girl Scout cookie season and the fact that I hear tell that MTV's Made will be filming at a local high school.) I think those would both be interesting, even though that doesn't really help me with next week's issue, for which I have. . .nothing, pretty much. One of the ad reps downstairs suggested getting with local gyms and exercise places for those people who made the inevitable "lose weight" New Year's resolution, so I may do that. Of course, I'm well aware that the only reason she suggested that was because she wants her gym, which also happens to be an advertiser, featured, but that's ok. Advertisers = Money and Money = Sarah having a job. So I'm OK with all that.

Oh, Girl Scout cookies. If anyone out there wants to completely secure their place on Sarah's List of People Who Rock, you could give me Girl Scout cookies. Samoas are my first choice (Oh, Samoas, how I love you) and Tagalongs are my second (because the combination of peanut butter and chocolate was invented by someone who knew what they were doing.) I feel like they've renamed the cookies for some reason (I wrote an article about them last year, and I feel like I remember that.) but, for the uninitiated among you, Samoas are the ones with the coconut and Tagalongs are the chocolate and peanut butter ones. (Duh.) I always have to keep my Girl Scout cookies in the freezer, because then I forget they're there, and I don't eat the entire box. Because I'm almost certain Girl Scout cookies are laced with crack.

So other than that, I've been working on MK's Christmas present (Yes. I'm still working on it. And yes, I'm OK with that.) which is going to be super cool, and I'm thinking about cleaning, because Nick's coming up later this evening. Not that I think I have to impress Nick, but it's nice to have a clean(ish) house when you have company.

There's really nothing else of interest happening in my life at the moment. I don't know. It's oddly calm. Honestly, I kind of hate when that happens, because that, almost inevitably, means something's brewing. That something's going to happen and turn everything upside down. I'm trying to remain optimistic, though, and just think that maybe I'll be allowed to be calm and happy for a while.

Athough, you know, I feel that I need a project. I need something outside of work to do. And if that something could raise me some extra funds, that would be fab. Because I'm. . .a little behind.

But I'm not going to think about that right now, because I can't actually do anything about it, seeing as to how no one will hire me part-time. You know that old saying about how, if you do what you love, the money will follow? That's crap. Do not believe that saying. You can be doing something you love and still be living barely above the poverty line. I'm just sayin'.

So there's a short update, I guess. I really am going to try to update more, but I'm not going to make it a "resolution" because I never keep those.

I don't love you, I'm just passing the time. You could love me if I knew how to lie. But who could love me? I am out of my mind.

So it’s October. In 29 days, I will be one year away from being old enough to rent a car without extra fees. Thus begins the birthday countdown. I don’t actually ever make a big thing of my birthday, but for some reason, I'm feeling like an attention whore these days, so I'm making people, at least those who come to this site, aware.

I really hate when people blog about things and are vague and when they don’t say exactly what it is they’re talking about, but in this case, since I’m not entirely certain who all reads this even on a semi-regular basis, I have to be careful, because I’m not in the business of ruining surprises, and if I were to talk about the situation directly, not only would I be a bitch surprise-ruiner, but I’d also have to delve more into my personal life than I care to in a public setting. Some people know, some people don’t, and I don’t need the ones who don’t to become the ones who do. Dig?

It’s amazing to me how five foot, one-ish inch of haircut I don’t understand can, without even speaking to me, remind me exactly of where my place is in the grand scheme of things. How, one day, you can feel like you’re cycling again, right back to the place you know you shouldn’t be in, but rather enjoy being in, and the next day, you understand that, you’re not welcome there.

How can I explain this better?

Ok, here we go. Say there’s a puppy. A puppy that you don’t own, but that you see every now and again and for which you throw a stick or a ball occasionally. You like the puppy, because the puppy’s fun, and the puppy gets you. But you’re well aware that the puppy isn’t yours and that at no point in your life will you ever own the puppy. You don’t actually WANT to own the puppy, because taking care of a puppy is something for which you don’t have the time or patience. You enjoy the time you have with the puppy, but you know that at the end of the day, the puppy’s going to go home with the owner who feeds it and takes care of it. And although you like to play with the puppy, you understand that it’s not. yours.

So the owner of the puppy is not a fan of yours. The owner feels that you’re trying to take the puppy away from its rightful home. You’re not, but if you tried to tell the owner that, the owner wouldn’t believe you, because of the period of time you've spent playing with the puppy. The owner probably is aware of how much you like the puppy. Your guess is that the puppy likes you just as much as you like it, but it wouldn’t tell its owner that, because, for one, puppies don’t talk, and for another, the owner would probably make it sleep out in the yard on cold nights or something. You don’t actually know what kind of relationship the puppy has with its owner, because while it seems to be a not-so-happy kind of relationship, the owner has said things that lead you to believe that maybe things aren't as they seem.

Anyway, now the owner has decided to buy the puppy a brand new, huge doghouse and is taking great pains to make sure that all of the puppy's little friends are aware that the owner is giving the puppy this house. And because of that, you feel a little discombobulated, and it's giving you a weird pain in your stomach that says, "Hey. Stay away from that puppy at all costs. You're going to get your ass kicked otherwise."

So starting today, you just need to tell yourself that no matter what, you need to stay far, far away from that puppy. You need to tell yourself that that puppies has rabies, and if you even get within a foot of it, it could bite you. And then you will die.

All I can really say is that I'm supremely glad that I'm going to be out of town this weekend. Because then, I don't have to make excuses.

Moving on.

Ok, there was a break of about half an hour, I'm back, and you know what? All of the bullshit in my life right now, involving dogs and their owners and past mistakes that you're never allowed to live down? It. Doesn't. Matter. There are bigger things in the world, and if a dog's owner wants to snipe at me, they can. I'll just know that I have a greater purpose in my life than to put up with whatever people who can't let the past be the past can dish out.

I should explain.

I've mentioned, more than once, the girl I interviewed for the Make-A-Wish article. Here's the YouTube video she's in, which I keep meaning to post:



So, the guy that was with her, another Make-A-Wish volunteer, came by to thank me again for the article I wrote. He's told Dennis that he was happy about the article and he told me over the phone the other day how much he liked it, but he stopped by again to tell me again how grateful he was and how much he liked it, and the Make-A-Wish people liked it, and the girl I interviewed liked it (he called her little Rikki, which made me laugh, actually.) He was so incredibly grateful that I really almost cried. Recently, there has been an influx of instances that have almost made me cry, and they haven't all been sad things. I've never been a happy crier, but for some reason, I've been more emotional than usual recently, and several things that are happy have made me tear up, if not just outright cry. While he was here, the guy told me that he's been passing out papers to all these people, to people within Make-A-Wish, to family, friends, and everything.

And I almost cried when he was telling me this. I'm such a putz.

So the point of all this is this: this is going to sound really weird, but I feel like there's a REASON I was the one Vi made do this story. I don't know why, but I have this really strong feeling that there's a reason, and I'd like to know what that reason is.

I've applied for a job at a non-profit in Asheville, and they're supposed to be getting with the "qualified" people by the end of this week, beginning of next. I need this to go through for me. I can't take much more of this. I just can't. I had this whole plan to be out by November, but that's not going to work out for me. I need something. Anything.

I've also been going to church. And it hasn't been struck by lightning. I'll talk more about that later, I guess.

Oh, and Girl Scouts started again, and I'm excited about all the stuff we're going to be doing this season. Good times.

And I'm back where I started again.

Two days ago, I had a blessed, blessed day off. What you have to understand about my days off is that even on a day when I'm "off," I usually end up here. But Wednesday, I didn't even come within 50 feet of the building, and that was pretty cool. I helped chaperone (is that even how that's spelled? Spell check is telling me there's no E, but I think it looks weird without it.) a bunch of Girl Scouts on a field trip. We went here:

It was a good day. Hot as all get out, but good. The girls were basically well-behaved (there were a few exceptions, of course) but I'm glad I went. And I avoided sunburn! Really and truly, that's a feat. Remember how I mentioned I'm the palest white girl ever? I escaped the day without the slightest burn or tinge of pink. Forget managing not to lose a single Girl Scout and giving endless piggy back rides and keeping 13 ice cream orders straight. . .not getting burned is what I'm most proud of.

Yesterday, The Peak had an uproar. I'm going to attempt to tell the story without getting too specific. I came in and CaseyDownstairs told me to let her know when I knew what pages I had to lay out, because she had revisions for me. (For those not in the industry or who just don't know, the job that CaseyDownstairs does is put all the ads the Ad Ladies sell onto the page in the manner in which they are supposed to be placed. You know, not putting competing businesses on the same page, etc. Sometimes, the Ad Ladies get ads in late or something changes, and they have to add a new ad to a page, so they print out a new copy of the page layout on a brightly colored piece of paper and bring it to whomever is laying out that particular page. That's a revision.)

Anyway, we had a little breakfast given to us upstairs by someone that, apparently, we'd done stories for (I knew nothing about it, but I wasn't going to turn down a free, not to mention delicious, breakfast.) So I sat in Vi's office with CousinCasey, Derek, Kathy, Vi, and Christine for half an hour or so and had breakfast. Afterwards, I took the pages I'd been given down to show CaseyDownstairs.

As she was printing out the revisions, she said, "Now, I know you and Abigail (one of the designers) are friends, but I wanted to tell you my side of the story before she told you and I looked bad." I, having been sitting in a breakfast room, had no idea what was going on. She explained to me that someone, she wasn't sure who, had told the general manager something negative about Abigail and that the GM had yelled at her in the parking lot.

I say, ok, good to know, and start to head back upstairs. Derek is coming down the stairs as I'm starting to go up, and he goes, "You're not going to want to do that." I said, yeah, I know, thinking that Abigail was just in a bad mood. No, no. Apparently, there was yelling and crying and a whole host of other things going on. Apparently, Abigail had said she quit and was packing her things.

So I stayed downstairs for a while. I didn't want to be in the middle of it, and that's probably where I would have ended up.

The end of the story is entirely anticlimactic. After the yelling and everything else. . .Abigail is still working here. The end. Today, it's like nothing happened. Sometimes, I don't understand this place.

We're having a Last Day Party for CaseyDownstairs today. She's been here for 10 years and today's her last day. It'll be kind of weird without her here. They're not hiring anyone new, but instead, spreading her job among several people. Which really? I think is a little lame.

But that's just me.

And isn't this exactly where you'd like me? (I'm exactly where you'd like me, you know.)

Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Elizabeth has put on her big girl panties and faced a problem head-on rather than ignoring it and hoping it would go away. And I feel much better now.

Here's the scenario:

The grad tab. I finished it last night. I thought that cover looked awesome and I put everything together the way it needed to be. . .a job well done, I thought. And a job well done it should have been, since I spent 7 1/2 hours here yesterday. Saturday.

(I've forgotten the meaning of a full weekend.)

Anyway, I come in today and my boss Vi tells me she's "very disappointed" with the thing. Partially because it was up until today that it took to get it finished (well, yesterday, technically) and partially because the biggest high school failed to send me a principal's letter to include on the pages. She completely chewed me out, saying she clearly can't trust me to do things, that I'm doing this, that, and the other wrong, and that she's going to have to be on top of everything I do from now on, because clearly, I am the biggest screw-up to ever walk the halls of The Peak, and possibly the entire earth.

So she leaves, and I sit there, angry as I can be, wondering how long it would take me to find a job and, therefore, rent money if I were to just up and quit.

After a little while passes, I go back into her office. I tell her I've had a little while to think about what she's said, and she says, "Yeah, I've thought about it, too." Then we had a pretty good conversation, actually, about how I am here all the freaking time and if she's going to be saying I don't care about what I'm doing and how I'm taking the lazy way out all the time, then that's just not fair.

Then she completely blows me away. She says that she knows how hard I work, she doesn't actually hate me as much as it appears she does (Her exact words were, "I really, really like you.") and that she was partially so completely angry at herself.

The thing you have to understand about me and this job is, had I not known someone here (CousinCasey, my actual cousin), I probably wouldn't have known about the job, let alone gotten it. And I'd probably still be living with my father, unemployed except for the temp jobs I worked. So when I got here, CousinCasey was the person that, for all intents and purposes, did all of my training. Vi told me things here and there, but it was pretty much CousinCasey that taught me everything I know. And I came in here with no experience whatsoever, except from writing for my college newspaper. But I was in the news department there for a semester, and then I wrote a column. That kind of "training" is hardly enough when you jump into being an editor/writer/photographer/layout person/copyeditor. So, essentially, no experience.

Vi proceeds to say that she's never felt like she "connected" with me, because she wasn't the one who did the training, so I don't do things exactly like she wants them done, because she wasn't the person who taught me how to do them.

There was more to the conversation, but that was essentially the gist of it. So she apologized for being bitchy, I apologized for not doing things the way they needed to be done.

I know that was kind of a Cliff's Notes version of the entire thing, but you'll just have to believe me when I say that I felt a lot better after the conversation, and I think that maybe, just maybe, she'll cut me a wee bit of slack when things aren't done exactly as she's like them to be done sometimes.

Or maybe not. I guess I'll just have to wait and see.

Everything aside, I think the grad tab turned out better than I expected, and I'll post a picture of my supremely cool cover on here after it prints tomorrow.

I didn't "run" yesterday. I probably should have, but work took over my life. Maybe I'll be able to get out tonight. Then again, maybe not.

That's the thing about this job. By the time I finish my work every day, I'm too exhausted and oftentimes drained to get out and move around. I know I need to just do it, but that's not as easy as it might sound.

I'm also probably chaperoning a group of Girl Scouts Wednesday for a trip they've been talking about taking. Vi told me to take some time off tomorrow, but I told her I'd rather do it Wednesday, since by that time, I'll have racked up enough time to have my 40 hours covered and be able to have a real day off. (Our weeks go from Wednesday to Wednesday, which is really one of the weirdest things I've ever heard of in my life.)