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.

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.

Hate is a strong word (but I really, really, really don't like you.)

I'm back after what can be considered an extended hiatus in the world of my writing in here. Some good stuff has gone on, and some crappy stuff has gone on. I'm going to start with the crappiest. I was going to write this all down last night, but I was really in such a state, I would have rambled and been all depressing and no one likes that. This is going to be a really, really long entry. Just so you know.

Despite trying (vaguely) to skew where I'm living, a lot of elements of this story will pretty much take you exactly to where I am, but whatever. I'm not especially concerned because, for one, it doesn't really matter, and for another, if I talk about any part of this story, people will know exactly what I'm talking about in several states. I mean, the NYTimes briefly covered this story, so it's not like it's a secret.

We recently had a highway patrolman killed while on duty. On Tuesday, in fact. He pulled this son-of-a-bitch over for a routine traffic stop, because the car and trailer the guy was dragging didn't have the proper plates. The 37-year-old guy, a 19-time convicted felon, was driving from Tennessee to Florida. Trooper Blanton pulled him over and tried to arrest him, and the guy freaked out and shot the trooper twice. Because. . .he had improper tags on his vehicles.

So then he runs. But not, as it turns out, before he searches the trooper for anything worth stealing and steals at least his weapon. He was tracked down by cops on a highway near where he'd shot the trooper and they found not only the trooper's gun in his car, but also drugs. The guy had convictions for armed burglary, assault with a weapon, carrying a concealed weapon, sale and possession of marijuana and escape. He was in jail in Florida from 1998 to 2005. While he was being chased by cops, during a, I believe, 16 to 19 minute chase, he fired two more shots at the officer chasing him. Luckily, he missed. So he's a lousy shot as well as a disgusting excuse for a human being.

Trooper Blanton was brought to a large city nearby's hospital, but he died.

Before I even get to the worst parts of this story, I would like to commend the Haddis County police force. If it would have been me, and I'd known he'd just shot one of my colleagues and then he shot at me? The bastard would have gotten a bullet right between the eyes. But they didn't use "violent force" to take the guy down. Now he's sitting in the Haddis County jail, waiting for. . .well, I hope he's waiting for someone to shoot him point-blank, but I guess he's actually waiting for a court date or something. They're holding him without bond, thank God.

So the worst part, as if it could get any worse. The trooper had been married for less than a year, and his wife, Michaela, had just had their first child, a son, seven weeks premature. The kid had just either opened his eyes or breathed on his own for the first time (or both. I'm not certain, it's just what I hear) the day his father was killed. Trooper Blanton died at the same hospital his wife and son were in.

At this point, I feel that I've told the story in a fairly newspaper-person sort of way (aside from the occasional cursing of the bastard's name). This doesn't reflect in any way how I feel about the situation.

Did I mention his age? He was 24. He and I were born the same year. It's always sad when someone dies (unless it's someone like that SOB that killed the trooper. He deserves a horrible, agonizing death), but 24-year-olds aren't supposed to die. It's not supposed to happen like that. And don't give me the whole, "Oh, everything happens for a reason, we never know how much time we have, blah blah blah." 24-year-olds are not. supposed. to die.

So I, as the editor of the obituaries, had to, obviously, get his obituary in. I was working on editing it and, halfway through, I had to take a break. I actually called my mom to talk to her to have something lighter to talk about, because, while I'm usually very good about separating myself from the obits, this one was hitting me really, really hard. And I didn't even know him.

It reminds me of last year, when the shootings went on at Virginia Tech. It freaked me out on a level I wasn't aware existed. It shook me. That's the only way to describe it. I was shaken. I sat in front of my TV and computer that day and just watched. I was experiencing this heightened state of fear, shock, sadness. . .all of it. It took me a week to pull myself out of that and, again, it didn't involve me. Sure, I knew people at VT, but I also knew they were fine. This is what this reminds me of, the way this makes me feel.

So I've been freaked out ever since I found out about this and, of course, being that I'm in the industry I'm in, I've heard about it constantly.

Cut to yesterday. I don't typically get e-mails of opinion in my inbox, because there's very little you can have an opinion on when it comes to weddings, births, school awards, and special events going on at the hospital. I got the following e-mail in my inbox that infuriated me almost to the point of tears. I'm going to post it exactly as I received it, typos and all, but I'll change a couple of names and stuff:

To whom it may concern,
As I read the Amesville and Whitaker paper today and see all the stories about Mr. Blanton's tragic death I have to wonder if anyone else died and who's missing them. It truly is a shame that anyone is killed at work doing the job they chose to do.My heart truly goes out to Mr. Blanton's family and I'm sure he will be missed. Going through the obituaries in todays paperI thought I would pick a random name and see how much coverage they recieved. The first name I cam to was Martha Baker. Ive never met Mrs. Baker nor did I attend Benjamin School. In 37 years as manager of the school cafeteria I have to wonder again as to how many lives she touched. That has to be an amazing number but where is that story ? I also see she was the chairperson for the Benjamin Community Cemetary Committee, she also had a pretty extensive family who I'm sure will miss her very much. Looking at the attached picture I can see she had a very warm smile and Im willing to bet her family will miss her homemade biscuits each Sunday as they get ready for church. How did someone as loved as Mrs. Baker's death not make the front page of your paper. Where is the story of how many students she touched, how many friends she made,how many people in her church have great things to say about her. I see she had a service at Weaver Funeral Home. Does that mean Benjamin School couldn't afford to rent the Civic Center for the service.Apparently Haddis County School system doesnt have as deep pockets as the North Carolina Highway Patrol.

Really? Really?

That infuriated me in a way that few things have in recent memory. Martha Baker died at 86. She worked in the Benjamin School cafeteria longer than Trooper Blanton was alive.

After getting permission from Vi to respond to the e-mail, I sent this:

As the Life Editor, I don't typically have much to do with the stories that run on the front page of The Peak, and I certainly don't have any say in what the Times puts on their front page. Despite this, I feel compelled to answer your e-mail.

Yes, it is always a sad occasion when someone dies. As the person here that deals with obituaries day in and day out, I'm more aware of that than most. However, I feel that at a certain point, while incredibly sad, it's not altogether surprising when someone dies. Death is a natural occurrence, especially as one grows older, and while the deceased leaves behind a host of family and friends that will miss them terribly, when the person in question is older, as Mrs. Baker was, loved ones, I'm sure, at some level, know that every day with the person is precious and they will not live forever.

I believe that there is a marked difference between sad and tragic. It is sad that Mrs. Baker passed away because, although I didn't know her, from the obituary provided, it seems she was a wonderful person. It is, however, tragic that Trooper Blanton was killed, because he was only 24 years old (an age, I'm sure you'll agree, doesn't often bring to mind thoughts of death), because he was a brand-new father, and because he was killed in the manner he was. I'm certain if Mrs. Baker had died because she had been shot twice while doing her job, she would have received the coverage you feel she should have. Had someone turned a gun on her during her time in the Benjamin School cafeteria, it most certainly would have been a front-page newsworthy event. Luckily, though, that wasn't the case, and she was given the opportunity to have a long, full life. Trooper Blanton was not given that option. He was killed in a hideous manner and, as I'm sure you're aware, untimely, premature, tragic deaths are often newsworthy.

I don't mind telling you that your e-mail infuriated me. A man who, by his very job description, put his life on the line daily, was killed unnecessarily by a convicted felon at the age of 24 (the age I, myself, happen to be turning this year), leaving behind a young family. He will never have the opportunity to work anywhere for 37 years as Mrs. Baker did. He will never know the son who will miss him, much less get the opportunity to meet any grandchildren or great-grandchildren he'll have as Mrs. Baker did. Mrs. Baker's children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren will have the memories of their dear mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother. Any of Trooper Blanton's descendants will not ever get to be that lucky.

That, sir, is why he got front page coverage all over North and South Carolina. And if you have a problem with the Haddis County School System not giving Mrs. Baker a large funeral at the lake(that's where Trooper Blanton's funeral will be - not at the Civic Center), I suggest you take it up with them. I have a feeling it has less to do with not having deep pockets as it does with a young man being taken far before his time.

I would also encourage you to submit this letter as a letter to the editor at for publication. Then you'll have the opportunity to voice your opinions to the entire county, and you can see if you get any responses that take the views you have.

As always, we here at The Peak thank you for your time in writing to us.

I'm hoping he writes back. I'd love if he wrote back.

Later yesterday, CousinCasey told me this woman downstairs said it was good for her that Trooper Blanton had been killed, because her husband had gotten a ticket from him earlier, and it's being dropped, because the trooper can't come to court.

People nauseate me. They really, truly do.

I've got more to say on the subject, but I feel this entry is long enough. And I've got a wedding to cover today.