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.

I'm in distress. Oh, mistress, I confess. So do it one more time. (These handcuffs are too tight.) Well. . .

How awesome am I? So awesome, in fact, that I’m sitting in Zaxby’s writing this, because my computer at home is fucked.

That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. My computer isn’t “out of service,” “messed up,” or “a little screwed up.” It’s fucked.

Apparently, this particular Zaxby’s is the only place in the entirety of the county that doesn’t pick up wireless Internet, so I’m putting it in a word document and I’ll sit, sketchily, in the parking lot of something or other later and put it online. Maybe I’ll sit there a while, because I’d like to get online to talk to people. . .you’d be amazed how cut off I feel, not able to get online at home. (Note, much later: I found a hotel parking lot with wireless. Not sketchy at. all.)

So the last couple of days have been. . .”a whirlwind” feels like a really cliche phrase, but it’s the only one that seems quite right. I’ll start from the beginning — Friday.

Friday workday wasn’t particularly eventful in that I. . .don’t even really remember it. I mean, I’m sure I accomplished something, and I’m sure I went through the day with the usual sense of disconnect I feel at work, but other than that, it wasn’t anything special. Oh, except my outfit was kind of awesome. Black shirt, short khaki skirt, the black boots and bright pink tights. The tights are relevant later,

That reminds me. I’m not sure what Vi’s deal is at the moment, but she asks me. . .not daily, but at least two to three times a week about me going out on a date. Whenever I’m wearing anything relatively cute (which, if I may say so, is fairly often, in my opinion) she figures it’s because I have a date later. Maybe I just like to be cute. I hate almost every other aspect of that job, so why SHOULDN’T I look cute? I’ve mentioned picking out my outfit is a highlight of my day, so really? I don’t need a reason to look decent, I don’t think.

So the point of that is that I find myself in another one of those situations where I said something smart-assed, and she took it, grabbed on to it, and refuses to let go. I can’t remember if I talked about the guy that came into the office with the giant ego. Vi and I were talking about him after he left, and she said he was flirting with me. (Really, you can only take that with a grain of salt. I think she thinks everyone flirts with me.) And she said something like, well, what if he said he wanted to take you out to dinner? And I said something flippant like, “Well, I’d probably let him. I’m poor, man. All I have to eat in my fridge is eggs, apple juice and salad.” Which was only partially untrue at the time.

And now? She brings it up CONSTANTLY. “Well, you’re the one that said you’d let TheGuy take you out.” “You said you’d let TheGuy take you out, what about that?” On, and on and on and ON AND ON. My God. This is what I get for being a smart-ass. No, I would not go out with TheGuy. It was a joke. I was kidding. Please, please, PLEASE let it go.

So Friday, I was killing time after work because where I was going didn’t begin until 5:30. I was sitting in the newsroom, and NewJeff, Dennis, and Vi were still there. I said I was killing time, because I had somewhere to be at 5:30. For some reason, Vi takes this to mean I have a date. She asks me if I do, and I say, “Yeah. Hot date.” Because I’m SO TIRED of hearing about it. And she gets all excited, “You have a DATE?!” I hope she didn’t see me roll my eyes at her. But I said, “No, Vi. I do not have a date.”

Where I WAS going was to a little get-together prior to today’s Make-A-Wish event. They were just getting together people who’d had whatever to do with the event, and I was invited because I’d written that article. It was just a little finger food soiree and I was, honestly? A little apprehensive about it. I don’t do well in most social gatherings of that sort where I don’t know people that well. I was going to know people, but not well. The Make-A-Wish campaign coordinator, Dave, was going to be there, and the WNC regional director, Carolyn, was going to be there, and Rikki, the girl about whom I wrote the article, was going to be there, but other than that, I was going into this on my own. Another person from the paper was invited, but they weren’t able to make it due to prior commitments.

So I go, and it turns out to be AMAZING. Seriously? I have found people outside of work with whom I really connected. The Make-A-Wish people were amazing, and one woman in particular, Melanie, I talked to forever. We talked about all sorts of stuff, and I found myself actually telling her that I’m uncomfortable in settings like that, usually, because people often don’t take me seriously because of my age. She was just really, really cool. She told me throughout the conversation that she’d seen me across the porch, and she wanted to talk to me because she thought, “anyone who could rock pink tights had to be someone awesome.” (Told you the tights would come back. They’ll be back again, too.)

But I think I’ve found a new friend (outside of work!!) and I’m excited. I like my friends at work but, you know, you need some outside people, too.

I talked to Rikki for a while and really? It’s hard to believe she’s only 16. It’s kind of funny, because she’s got this elegance and poise about her that you don’t often see in people that age, but then she’ll say something that makes you go, “Wow. You’re so young.” She really is very cool, though.

I also found out that Carolyn wants to train me as a wish granter. Those are the people who actually meet with the kids that make the wishes and who make them happen. That? Kind of blew me away. I was expecting, you know, to help out with fundraisers or to do office stuff on the weekends, but no. For whatever reason, in the short time she’s known me, she’s decided that I’d be good at that. And I’m really excited about it. I’m excited about the entire thing, in case you haven’t noticed. I finally have something, as one of my friends put it, that’s “bigger than myself” with which to work. Because honestly? I can sit here and say, “Oh, poor me. I hate my job, I’m in debt up to my ears, and I can’t have the person I want the most,” but then you look at these kids having their wishes granted? And it’s a whole new ballgame. And I want to be a part of that.

Someone else I met last night was Teri, who works for Kawasaki, which was one of the sponsors of the event. She flew in from California for the event. Her mother lives here, so it wasn’t just randomly, “Oh, I’m going to go to WNC just for funsies,” but it was cool meeting her, too. She is the editor-in-chief of a motorcycle magazine and you know I’m always excited to meet people in the publishing industry. I mean, I liked her as a person, she was cool, but I knew I wanted to talk to her before I knew she was cool because she’s the EIC, and even though I know nothing about motorcycles, people in publishing are people in publishing. Believe me, y’all. I’ve got bigger things in my future than a hometown newspaper. I’m glad to be getting a start here, but I’ve got much, much bigger things coming my way one day. I really believe that.

After the get-together, I decided to go to a football game, since the stadium is literally a 5-minute walk from my house, and I flashed my press pass to get in. I love that. It was the home team’s homecoming, so, of course, they played a team they could beat. For whatever reason, I love football games. I texted Jason while I was there, since I haven’t talked to him since. . .well, I haven’t physically spoken to him since before I moved here, and that’ll be a year next month. The football game reminded me of him, since we did marching band together.

There was also this guy standing beside me who looked like every stereotypical hillbilly EVER and who kept spitting every 15 to 30 seconds. I’m assuming he was chewing tobacco. It was really hideous. So gross. If you’re going to have bad habits, which everyone does, at least you could have a bad habit that doesn’t involve saliva and spitting.

It turned out that my ex was there as well (I SWEAR, I’ll come up with a name for him one of these days. “My Ex” encompasses at least two other people, so I need something more characteristic.) Anyway, he gave me half a funnel cake, which was a welcome thing, since I hadn’t eaten, really eaten, since lunch. I’d had a little cup of wine and some cheese and crackers at the get-together, but I was really too keyed up to eat. And at the game, I was still really, really jazzed. I was so excited about everything. It was a wonderful feeling. Dennis was there shooting the game so I talked to him for a bit as well.

After I got home, approximately 10:30, I was too keyed up to even try to sleep, despite needing to get up at 6:45, so I went to Wal-Mart and called Ashley. I finally got to bed around 2. I’m still having really bad sleep problems, so I probably slept a total of 3 hours. The thing about the sleep issues is that I can function just fine on the little sleep I get for a couple of weeks, but then it all hits me at once, and I still can’t sleep, despite how exhausted I am. It’s frustrating that I continually have to take pills to help me sleep, but I’d rather that than being a bitch because I’m so tired and then, ultimately, crashing.

Since this entry is so long here (3 word document pages!), I’m going to cut the weekend in half, and I’ll get to today in the second entry.