Was it something I said to make you turn away, to make you walk out and leave me cold?

I am sitting in the parking lot of a Wal-Mart writing this. Not the new Super Wal-Mart in my town, but the old super Wal-Mart a few towns over. I’ve been avoiding writing for the last few days, partially because I’ve been busy with baby sister in town, but also because my head has been in a really weird place, and I didn’t want to concern people. (After finishing this, I would recommend you not read the rest if you’re feeling a bit down, or even if you’re really happy. It kind of got depressing at the end.)

I’m debating on whether I want to start with the potentially concern-causing thing or with the things that are happier/don’t matter as much/are of no real consequence to my life as a general whole.

I guess we’ll start with the lighter things.

Today’s outfit? Fab. My mom’s friend, Susie, gets rid of clothes fairly frequently, and a lot of times, a lot of them go to me. Today’s combination was my brown heels, literally the most comfortable heels I own. I bought them on a whim a year or two ago when I went shopping in Chapel Hill with Nick and his mom. I didn’t wear them much when I first bought them, because I didn’t own much in the way of brown clothing, but since stocking up on my shades of brown, I’ve been able to wear them more frequently. They are ridiculously comfortable, though. I could walk around in these things all day and not even notice that I was wearing heels. Those were paired with my light blue, wide-legged jeans (thanks to Goody’s, a place I’ve finally found jeans that look good on me. They’re a bit long, because regulars are too short and longs are too long, but if I wear heels with them, they’re fine. A peach tank top, courtesy of Susie and this brown courdoroy jacket, also courtesy of Susie. When I pulled this thing out of the box, I was already thinking of all the outfits I could work around it. I initially had it paired with another Susie shirt, a sleeveless white shirt with crazy brown and yellow pattered. . .flowers, I believe, but I didn’t know if I wanted to go quite that crazy today, so peach it was. I felt really good in this outfit, and that’s what counts, I guess. And since I’ve devoted an entire paragraph to it, I think that should be about the end of it.

Thanksgiving was. . .the usual family affair. Depressing. I drove 6 hours round-trip yesterday, and you’d think that after that, I’d be sick of driving, but here I am, a few towns away, typing. Tonight’s driving jag had a purpose, though. I needed to get away.

Katie was here from Sunday until yesterday, and it was. . .awesome. I never get to see her, and it was really great having her stay for a few days. We went to Asheville Wednesday (since I’d worked all day Saturday, I took Wednesday off) and she came to work with me the other days. I felt guilty, dragging her into work, but she had her laptop, so she was plenty amused. She also liked the little coffee place near work, and went there for breakfast both days she was there. (Incidentally, that place makes a mean pancake. I had no idea they even made pancakes. Trust Katie to find pancakes where there appear to be none.)

It was sad at work today, because I was the only person on the second floor. The newsroom was deserted, it being the day after Thanksgiving and all, except when Chuck came in for an hour or so, and Dennis made a brief appearance. It’s starting to slowly sink in how on my own I am now that Carrie’s gone. It was hidden this week, because Katie was here, but today, I was all alone upstairs and it was just. . .kind of heartbreakingly sad.

I was rescued at 11 or so when this woman, Jan, who I write articles for occasionally, picked me up to take me to this place in the next town over to interview this artist about Christmas ornaments. She also bought me lunch, which was awesome. We went to this seafood place that I’d heard good things about. I. . .have never trusted seafood in the mountains, but I think my mind has been changed after this place. It was delicious. I tried not to think about how far away we are from the actual ocean. My sandwich was wonderful, though, and it was surprisingly inexpensive. Jan paid today, but I mean on the whole, it was surprisingly inexpensive.

After my family Thanksgiving gala, I went into downtown Greensboro and took photos for an hour or so. Remember how I was talking, a month or so ago, about the two great loves of my life, Raleigh and the town in which I currently reside? Greensboro is that hot, young thing that I had an illicit affair with when Raleigh and I were on the outs. I’d forgotten how much I loved taking pictures in downtown Greensboro. I was alone, but it was ok. Once I stop being lazy and get up and get my card reader, I'll put some of those pictures on here.

Downtown Greensboro made me forget how altogether sad I am these days. There’s the occasional bright spot, of course, like my new office, and the times I get to see MK and seeing Katie, but I’m just not feeling altogether whole, and I’m not sure why. But in Greensboro? I was thrilled. I was so happy to be there, photographing the place I lived for 4 years. The last time I photographed downtown, it was in black and white (and then Wal-Mart messed up my film, so it was also in sepia), but this is the first time I’d photographed it in color. It was amazing, really. All the light and the reflections. . .I miss that place sometimes. I actually printed out some of the pictures and I’m going to put them up in my office. I should go into downtown Raleigh next time I’m there, see if I feel the same things there as I do in Greensboro. I’ve lived here for so long that I forget that there places outside of here I can go and take photos. It helped that downtown was basically deserted, it being Thanksgiving, so I could just be alone with the city. I don’t know if you’ve ever felt what it’s like, being alone with a place you love, but it got me through the rest of that day, and I wasn’t sad on the way home, as I expected to be.

So here’s a question for you. I got the idea for a future issue of my mag to do a feature on scrapbooking. It’s the holidays, and people take a lot of photos, and I happen to know that there are several places that do classes and sell supplies. . .things like that. The problem I have is that the person that I’ve mentioned before that hates me? The one person that would probably have me “taken care of” if she could? That’s what she does. She’s actually quite good. . .I’ve seen her Web site and the stuff she does, and it’s good. Under other circumstances, I’d call her first to interview her about this stuff. My dilemma is this — I can’t snub her. For one, because, as I mentioned, she’s good. Also, because that would probably make the situation worse than it already is. On the other hand, I absolutely, staunchly refuse to ask her to come to my office so I can talk to her. I won’t do it. I know that business is business and personal issues are personal, but I think if you knew the depth of her hatred for me, you’d agree that her being in my office is not something that needs to happen. So I don’t know what to do from here. It won’t be for a couple weeks until I need this centerspread, but I need to figure out what to do now. I could give the assignment to one of my freelancers, but I’d really rather write it myself, for one, because it’s a relatively interesting subject matter, and also, the more I write, the less I have to pay the freelancers. And cheap is good. So I’m at a loss here. It may end up that I just don’t do the feature, since I don’t know how to go about this situation, but that seems kind of a shame.

At Thanksgiving dinner yesterday, my aunt got onto the subject of my love life (or lack thereof.) “Sarah,” she says, “what’s happening in the old love life these days?” I muttered something about not having time, there not really being anyone nearby, etc. She says, “Ah ha! There must be a new guy if she’s not willing to talk.” “No,” I say, “there is most definitively not a new guy.” “Then you must be involved with an old guy,” she says. “What happened to the one from last year?” I know who she’s talking about, but I say, “I wasn’t seeing anyone at this time last year,” True. It was Easter she was thinking of, but I wasn’t about to correct her. She turns to Katie, “How about it, Katie?” she says, “I’m certain you know everything.” Katie, who, in fact, knows nothing more than what she observes, gives a half-smile and shakes her head, saying nothing. (I knew there was a reason I love her.) My aunt finally gives up, but that got me to thinking, “My God. I have never brought anyone home for the holidays.” My step-cousin (or whatever) has brought his parade of girlfriends to the dinners, but I’ve never had anyone. And that makes me. . .incredibly sad. But I decide not to dwell on it.

I continued thinking about this today. I was sitting in my office, alone, and thinking that, really and truly, if I were to keel over at home, it would be a while before anyone noticed. Suppose I kicked it during lunch on a Friday. If I didn’t come back to work, they’d just assume I’d gone home for the day. I don’t normally see people on Saturday, and if it wasn’t my Sunday to work, it would be Monday before anyone even thought anything weird was going on. Maybe someone would notice when I didn’t show up for the 8:30 meeting that starts at 9:15, but they’d try to call me and go on with the meeting. Maybe around lunch, someone would get vaguely concerned.

This particular timeline I’m gleaning from what happened when McHotpants didn’t show up for a staff meeting. We just had the meeting, and then at around 11:30 or 12, Vi sent me out to his house, since he wasn’t answering his phone. I ended up getting a hold of him on the way to his house (he slept through his alarm and, apparently, the 5,000 phone calls that morning) and nothing was wrong, but still. It was noon before we knew for sure what was going on. If I keeled over at noon on Friday, and it was noon Monday before anyone noticed anything was amiss. . .that’s like 3 days. It kind of puts things into perspective, and shows you where you stand in life. I need a roommate. Or a boyfriend.

As I was sitting my office, the lights out, after Karen had gotten offline and before I started talking to Nick, I was just thinking about my own mortality. A little morbid, sure, but I was alone in a cold, dark office. What else do you think about? I went through the whole scenario, the noon Friday to noon Monday scenario, and then I climbed up onto the roof.

That might sound weird, but actually, the last time I had a minor panic attack about something completely unrelated, I went up to the roof and it gave me clarity. Literally, I stood there for a while, and suddenly, everything was put into perspective for me, and I felt better.

It was oddly quiet today for being Black Friday, and I just stood there for a little while, looking down onto Main Street. I was far enough away from the edge that I wasn’t in any danger of falling off, but I found myself thinking, “What if?” That’s it. What if? What would happen? If I were to fall off that roof, what would happen? I’m not married, I don’t have any kids. . .what would happen to the things I owned? What would my obituary say? Having worked in the obituaries for over a year, I’ve seen a lot of variety in what those things say. But what would mine say? No one there knows me, really knows me, so a lot of the things that people say in their loved ones’ obituaries, “He loved hunting, fishing, crossword puzzles, church and his grandchildren,” wouldn’t be relevant. What would the people I spend the most time with really be able to say about me? “She was a decent writer, took decent photographs, loved Diet Coke and talked about her sister a lot”? I mean, Carrie’s family, she knows me, and I guess they call the parents in situations like that, but that had me really concerned. That no one would know what to put in my obituary. That I would just be another, “Oh, wow, 24. She died awfully young.”

And I’ve always wondered how people who don’t live where you died would find out. I have friends in South Carolina, Raleigh, Greensboro, Asheville, Chapel Hill, Fayetteville, Pennsylvania, Manchester (at the moment). How do they know? Do those left behind think to call these people? How would people know? Would they just start to wonder when you don’t answer your phone for a while? Are you supposed to leave a list of people you want notified? How does it WORK?

I think I’m too young to be thinking about things like this, and I know it sounds really, awfully morbid, but I don’t want people to worry about me. I’m not going to jump off the roof. I promise. These are just the things I think about when I’m alone. And I’m alone a lot. I think a lot of people think about stuff like this. . .it’s just that not many people talk about it. And I’m talking about it because I don’t want it just bouncing around in my head.

Sorry, y’all. I just have a lot on my mind these days. And I’m just unhappy. The holidays do that to me, especially over the last two years. The aunt I was closest to died Christmas Eve day, you know. My senior year of college. That was a rough year. My uncle, her brother, my father’s brother, had died three months prior. And the last time I talked to her, I was telling her that no, I couldn’t take her and my grandmother Christmas shopping. I really, really didn’t want to, and somehow, something came up so I honestly couldn’t. But that was the last time I talked to her. When I told her no, I couldn’t help them out. I’d done it the weekend before and I was going to be damned if I was going to do it again.

And that’s the last time I’ll ever talk to her. I was being a selfish bitch in the last conversation I had with her. The next time I saw her was at the wake.

I’m going to stop here. I’m sorry this was so depressing.

This love has taken its toll on me. She said goodbye, too many times before.

Another day. I spoke to MK this morning, and he sounds down, obviously, but he's generally ok. That conversation was utterly and absolutely heartbreaking, because I can't do anything. I can't help and I can't fix anything. All I can do is be here, and I think he knows I am.

I read what I wrote last night and, while it's fairly obvious I wasn't writing like I normally do (thanks to the wine), I meant everything I wrote, and it stands.

I'm going with Carrie to a play tonight. I. . .actually have no idea what the play is. I think it's the last one of the season, though. Pretty much all day, I've been doing nothing, aside from worrying. As I do.

I feel like I should write, but I don't have anything to say. Last night was entirely surreal and sad and weird, and I don't feel everything is entirely back to normal. I know I'm, inevitably, going to be putting Randy's obituary in the paper, and I'm not looking forward to that. I feel like I should go to the funeral, too, whenever that is.

As a side note, I'd like to mention how amazingly awesome my Twin is. Karen and I talk. . .most days, and for someone that I've never met, it's cool how we kind of get each other. I talked to her this morning after I talked to MK, and she gets it.

Also as another side note, I think one of the best movies ever made is Legally Blonde. I may have mentioned this before, but whenever I see that it's on, I have to watch it, no matter where in the movie I'm starting. It's a happy movie. It's one of those movies that looks like it would be stupid, but is actually cute and endearing. Reese Withspoon is amazing in it. I was actually thinking about it this morning, because I own it and I was thinking I needed a happy movie today, and I saw on the channel channel that it was on. So that's what I'm watching now and will probably continue watching until I leave.

Sorry for the lame entry. Would a video of an awesome song help?

I lost a friend. Somewhere along in the bitterness. But I would have stayed up with you all night, had I known how to save a life.

I need to start this entry out with a disclaimer.

One thing that is a pet peeve of mine is when someone dies and people who only marginally and exponentially knew the person act like they've just lost someone very close to them. It's like they feel that they'll get some kind of attention if they were really close with the person. I'm not trying to do that. I'm cataloging things as they happened this evening, no exaggeration, no pretending like I am something I'm not.

Another thing I should disclaimer here is that this is not a happy entry. It's beyond even some of my more emo entries, but I need to write this out, and I know that not many people read this anyway, so it's not like I'm broadcasting to a wide range of people.

One of our sports writers, Randy, died tonight.

I should start from the beginning, because there's a lot of details to the story that won't make sense unless they're implicitly stated. I'm also making my way through a bottle of wine right now, so I'm hoping I remain understandable. (And yes, for those keeping score at home, I am keeping track of my blood sugar and adjusting my insulin accordingly.)

I left work this evening (last night? I don't even know what time it is at this point.) later, because I was talking to Dennis and NewJeff about. . .nothing important. We were just chatting, but then I had to leave and get going, because I was intending to go to the PHS game, as I'd previously mentioned. They won, something like 50- or 60- something to 0. Also kind of not the point.

I saw my ex at the game, so we chatted some. We talked about Desperate Housewives. I had to park far away in Murderville, U.S.A., because I didn't know that press could park right up behind the stadium. He was parked considerably closer than I was, so he offered to drive me to my car, since it was chilly and raining.

After the game, we hung around a little, he talked to people he knew, he bought me a hot dog, I said hi to Chuck (the sports writer), and I was freezing, so we got in the car and he cranked up the heat. We sat for a few minutes, chatting, while we waited for the mob to subside.

At one point in the conversation, I got this really, really unsettling case of deja vu. It happens sometimes, that I dream things and they happen, but this time, it felt like something really bad was going to happen. However, usually when I get that feeling, it's nothing, so I let it go. I did mention to my ex that I felt the weird deja vu, and he said that he'd felt the same thing twice since we'd been sitting in the car.

So finally, we're able to get out, and he drives me up to where my car is. We're sitting there, having a quasi-serious conversation, and we hear sirens. It doesn't seem so odd, except that they end up driving right past where we were sitting. He said he got a bad feeling about someone he knew that had been at the game, so he started up the car and followed the ambulance and the fire truck that had sped by.

We followed them back past the school and down this long, dark road that led to the high school (I think that's where we were. It was dark and hard to tell. I was discombobulated and wasn't sure where we were. I also was having a panicky version of deja vu and was trying to not go hysterical, so I don't even really remember much of that ride.)

We pulled up to the school, whichever school it was, and there are people gathered around and several emergency vehicles. My. . .I'm going to start calling him MK, ok? My Kiwi. It's easier than "my ex," and I'm feeling particularly. . .whatever tonight. This morning. Whatever. So MK.

MK hops out of the car and goes over to where the crowd is. I stay in the car, for one, because he left it running, and I took that as a hint I should stay in the car. For another. . .I didn't want to know, you know? If something gruesome had happened, I didn't think I could handle it. Also. . .I'd dreamed this. In the dream, I didn't know what was going on, but it was the same scenario, and that terrified me, because even though I didn't remember what had happened in the dream, I knew it was bad.

I sat in the car. . .maybe 20 minutes? Half an hour? It felt like forever. MK finally comes back and tells me that Randy's had a heart attack. He'd had it, apparently, while driving, and had hit this little guard building at the school. MK and Randy had been friends forever. They'd known each other forever. MK started driving again.

As he jetted down the road, MK told me he was going to go to the local hospital, because that's where they were taking Randy. At this point, I didn't know if that meant he was going right then and I'd have to find some way to get my car later, or if he was going to take me by my car first. I didn't really care.

As it turned out, he was taking me to my car first. He said, "I'm going to make sure you can start your car and then I'm going to get to the hospital as fast as I can." I couldn't do anything except nod. He stopped, and I scrambled to get out of the car. I actually banged my hip on the car as I got out, and it went numb for a second, and I was thinking, oh, man, I'm not going to be able to drive. Obviously, it turned out OK. I have a bruise, but not a problem at all. He told me that he would wait until I started my car, to make sure I could get it started, and I wanted to say, "No, just go. Get to the hospital," but I didn't want an argument and I knew he'd wait anyway. He told me to be careful and I said, "No. YOU be careful," and I got into my car as fast as I could, started it, and waved him on. He screeched away.

I made a split-second decision to follow him and go to the hospital as well.

Now, I did know Randy. We weren't friends and I'd only spoken to him a couple dozen times, but he was always nice to me when he came into the office, he always said hi to me, and Chuck seemed to like him. I'm sure if I'd known him better as a person, rather than just someone who came in occasionally, I would have liked him. I liked what I knew of him.

But that's not why I went to the hospital.

I went to the hospital because I had a feeling it wasn't going to be good, and I wanted to be there for MK. I know he would do the same for me. He would. I had to be there.

So I break more than a few traffic laws trying to keep up with MK, because I didn't know exactly where to go to get to the emergency room at the hospital. As it turned out, I could have easily figured it out, but I didn't know that at the time. I never went over 65 mph, and I didn't technically run any red lights. What I ended up doing was making a right on red and then another right onto the road I'd initially been on. See? Even in the face of emergency and mild panic, I still follow most of the laws.

But I made it, not too terribly long after MK got there (I got turned around in the parking lot behind the hospital) and when I walked up to where MK was, crouching against the wall outside the hospital, he told me, basically, that it didn't look good.

I don't know how long we were there before it was made known that Randy didn't make it. After the guy came out and said that, MK walked away. I figured he wanted to be alone, so I waited until he came back.

After waiting a little while longer, there was nothing else to be done. Family was coming, there were several other people there. . .there was nothing I could have done. MK told me he was going to leave, and I told him I'd walk down to his car with him. I did all I could possibly do -- I hugged him. I held on as long as he wanted me to, and told him to be careful on his way home. He said he'd call me tomorrow (today?) I don't expect him to remember that. I'll probably call him, though, to make sure he's OK. What I wanted to say was, "MK, I love you," but I knew that it wouldn't come out the way I wanted it to, and I didn't want to. . .do whatever that would have done. So I just kept my mouth shut and left.

I got to my house, but drove past it, because I didn't want to go in. Then Ashley called me. And I lost it.

I'm usually pretty good about not being overly emotional when it actually counts. I can hold it together to give other people support when they need it, but afterward, I lose it. And lost it I did.

I told her what happened, and cried and cried. The stress, the incredible emotion I knew MK was feeling, everything. . .I told her I wasn't trying to be one of those people that acted all uppity when someone they barely knew died, but it was. . .it was MK. I went to that hospital to be there for him if he needed me, and it hurt so much to see him like that. I wanted to make everything go away, to make it all better for him, but I couldn't. There's nothing I could or can do, and that just completely tore me up from the inside.

Kiwi, I don't know if you ever frequent my little corner of the Internet, if you used to and then didn't because I stopped writing or if you ever did, but I want you to know that I love you. I don't care if I'm not supposed to, or if I'm not supposed to say it or whatever. Maybe you don't love me the way I love you, but I know you at least care about me, and I want you to know that I'd do anything for you. Absolutely anything. I love you in a way that, really and truly, I've never loved anyone in my life. I'd tell you that straight up, but I don't think you'd. . .appreciate hearing it. But if I can do anything for you, I would. After everything that happened tonight, I know how precious life is. You even said that to me when I got to the hospital. "Sarah," you said, "you just never know. Life's so short."

And it is. And I'm sorry you had to go through this. So, incredibly sorry. I'm here if you need me. I want you to know that.

And I've finished my bottle of wine now and I'm going to go to bed. So goodnight, everyone. Goodnight, and I'd encourage you to tell the people you love that you love them. Because you don't ever know. I'm going to call my parents tomorrow and make sure everything's OK back home, and maybe one day, I'll actually tell MK what I'm feeling.

But probably not.