The last post of 2008, you guys. I'll try to avoid being overly "OMG, it's the end of the year! I'm going to get sentimental!"
I haven't written in a while, and a lot of stuff has been going on, but I'm not going to try to recount everything. I've been ludicrously happy here recently, and it's been nice.
It's New Year's Eve and I'll be going to Bryson City tonight to hear NewJeff's band. I'm not. . .honestly, I'm not thrilled about it, but I'm not going to sit at home by myself on New Year's Eve, a night when I tend to be a little overly emotional anyway (because it's usually a "Oh my GOD, it's been another year, and I'm STILL alone!" I'm not actually alone, but physically, I would be alone this evening.) I had New Year's plans, which I'd made. . .a month and a half/two months ago, but they were canceled last week. Now, I'm not going to lie. . .I'm still pissed about that. I've been good, especially recently, about not holding onto things that don't really matter, that I KNOW don't really matter, but this? I continue to be beyond pissed about this. Because this'll be the first New Year's in. . .well, since freshman year of high school, that I don't have someone to hang out with (or a group of people to hang out with.)
When I called NewJeff to get directions to the place, he mentioned how sad it is that I'm going by myself. Thank you, Jeff. I wasn't already aware of how pathetic it is. I really needed you to remind me. Much obliged.
However, the alternative is sitting at home alone, feeling really sorry for myself, and I refuse to do that. So I will look cute, I will go to Bryson City, and I will be sociable.
I honestly can't believe it's the end of the year. More has happened in the past year than I think has happened to me in the entirety of my life. I won't list it all, but just believe me when I say that this year was. . .eventful, to say the least. I don't profess to know what 2009 is going to bring, but I hope it's. . .you know, I don't want to say "better," because this past year wasn't bad, per se. A lot of crappy things happened, but it wasn't, in its entirety, a bad year.
Now that I've started this entry, I feel like I don't have as much to say as I thought I did. Maybe I felt guilty for not updating for a long period of time. I don't know. It seems like I start out having tons to say and then I lose steam.
Anyway, everyone have a happy New Year's Eve, be safe, and I'll catch everyone in 2009.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Thursday, December 18, 2008
I take my pills. The babies cry. All I hear is what's playing through the in-flight radio.
So I'm not going to be able to put "Sarah - award-winning writer" on my resume anytime soon. The results from the NC Press Association came in today and I didn't win anything.
However, Dennis won two different awards, and as the person that was after him saying, "You're entering, right? What are you entering? Have you picked what you're entering yet?," I'm really, really excited that he won. I knew he would, because he's really good at what he does. I really and truly can not put into words how happy I am he won, because I don't think he gets enough credit, at least around here, for all the hard work he puts in and how amazing his stuff really is.
Because of this, I'm in a weird situation at the moment. I'm so happy that he won. . .but I am, in fact, devastated that I didn't. It might sound stupid, but this was. . .I needed this. I needed something to prove to my boss that I am, in fact, not worthless in this job. I get the feeling every now and then that she doesn't think I can do anything right, and winning something, ANYTHING, would have shown that, yes, I am good at what I do. Other people think I'm good at what I do. I could have brought the letter home at Christmas and said, "Look! I'm awesome!" I had all but convinced myself I'd already won, because I thought my stuff was really good. I entered my gay article, my Make-A-Wish article and. . .something else I don't remember. And I thought they were good!
One might argue that some people around here thought they were good, too, but honestly? Some of the stuff people around this town think is "good" is. . .pretty bad. So now I'm really concerned that I'm one of those writers that is good. . .to people in Western North Carolina. That I'm right on par with the people that I don't think are very good at all.
I have this one writer (had, I guess, this one writer) that is incredibly popular with people around here. I don't think she's funny at all. I'm afraid I'm that kind of writer. That people without. . .I don't want to be insulting to people around here, because not everyone is unintelligent by any stretch of the imagination, but. . .a lot of the people around here have been here their entire lives. Small town living is all they know and sometimes, that means they haven't. . .ever experienced anything outside of their own bubble.
I'm unable to relay what I'm trying to mean. All I'm saying is that I wish I were good enough that people outside of this area thought I was, too.
I really needed this, is all I'm saying. I have been, effectively, knocked down a few pegs. Maybe I deserved that.
However, I get the feeling that Dennis needed it more, so that's good. I feel I'm growing as a person because I'm honestly, really and truly not jealous that he won. I'm not angry he won. I wish I were, actually, because I would rather be angry than incredibly sad. But he deserves it. Both of them. And I don't want to take away from that.
There's the update. I'm going to go back to work. Just regular work, though. Not award-winning work.
However, Dennis won two different awards, and as the person that was after him saying, "You're entering, right? What are you entering? Have you picked what you're entering yet?," I'm really, really excited that he won. I knew he would, because he's really good at what he does. I really and truly can not put into words how happy I am he won, because I don't think he gets enough credit, at least around here, for all the hard work he puts in and how amazing his stuff really is.
Because of this, I'm in a weird situation at the moment. I'm so happy that he won. . .but I am, in fact, devastated that I didn't. It might sound stupid, but this was. . .I needed this. I needed something to prove to my boss that I am, in fact, not worthless in this job. I get the feeling every now and then that she doesn't think I can do anything right, and winning something, ANYTHING, would have shown that, yes, I am good at what I do. Other people think I'm good at what I do. I could have brought the letter home at Christmas and said, "Look! I'm awesome!" I had all but convinced myself I'd already won, because I thought my stuff was really good. I entered my gay article, my Make-A-Wish article and. . .something else I don't remember. And I thought they were good!
One might argue that some people around here thought they were good, too, but honestly? Some of the stuff people around this town think is "good" is. . .pretty bad. So now I'm really concerned that I'm one of those writers that is good. . .to people in Western North Carolina. That I'm right on par with the people that I don't think are very good at all.
I have this one writer (had, I guess, this one writer) that is incredibly popular with people around here. I don't think she's funny at all. I'm afraid I'm that kind of writer. That people without. . .I don't want to be insulting to people around here, because not everyone is unintelligent by any stretch of the imagination, but. . .a lot of the people around here have been here their entire lives. Small town living is all they know and sometimes, that means they haven't. . .ever experienced anything outside of their own bubble.
I'm unable to relay what I'm trying to mean. All I'm saying is that I wish I were good enough that people outside of this area thought I was, too.
I really needed this, is all I'm saying. I have been, effectively, knocked down a few pegs. Maybe I deserved that.
However, I get the feeling that Dennis needed it more, so that's good. I feel I'm growing as a person because I'm honestly, really and truly not jealous that he won. I'm not angry he won. I wish I were, actually, because I would rather be angry than incredibly sad. But he deserves it. Both of them. And I don't want to take away from that.
There's the update. I'm going to go back to work. Just regular work, though. Not award-winning work.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
How they dance in the courtyard, sweet summer sweat. Some dance to remember; some dance to forget.
It is currently. . .4:22 a.m. I've been lying in bed for the last hour, trying to talk myself into falling asleep, and, clearly, I did not accomplish that particular goal. I decided that getting up, turning on infomercials, blogging and finishing my freelancing projects would be more effective and time-effective than lying in bed, being really pissed off that I couldn't sleep.
Luckily, one of my absolute favorite infomercials is on: For Jack Lalanne's Power Juicer. I. . .really want this juicer. For only four payments of $49.95! It's backed by the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval! It comes with more than 60 recipes (a $25 deal for free). If you call right now, they'll make one of the payments FOR you! That's only three payments of $49.95. But wait! Fitness phenomenon Jack Lalanne wants to celebrate his birthday by taking AN AMAZING $50 dollars off! That's like paying only TWO PAYMENTS of $49.95. Hell to the yeah. I've wanted this thing, seriously, since I first saw the infomercials about a month or so ago when Carrie and I had a sleepover of sorts, where we talked about things girls talk about, ate Doritoes, drank wine, and saw the commercial for this fabulous juicer.
Really, the only infomercial that's even remotely as good is the one for those knives. I don't know the specifics of them, but you get, like 5,000 kinds of knives that can all cut through an aluminum can (and really? I know I often get the urge to cut aluminum cans in half. So these knives are pretty much essential to my everyday life.)
So the reason I'm not sleeping is because I've been trying to not take Tylenol PM. I was afraid I was going to get addicted to it or something. As it turns out, the only thing I'm really addicted to is sleep, and now I'm not getting that. Oh yeah, and crack cocaine.
No, I'm kidding. About the crack cocaine. Not the sleep.
But I really can't sleep without something to help me along. If I drink wine before I go to bed, I can GET to sleep, but I can't STAY asleep. If I just bring myself to the absolute brink of exhaustion, I can sometimes fall asleep, but, again, I can't stay asleep. And with the Tylenol PM, 9 out of 10 nights, I can fall and stay asleep.
So what's been going on with Sarah? I've been working all the time, which is nothing new, but I've also been. . .really, really happy. Like, almost ridiculously so. It's something that you can't really exhibit at work, because then you have to contend with really annoying questions, but I'm smiling a lot more. Yesterday (Monday, my production day), I was a little stressed out when I went into work (I'll get into why in a second), but it was OK. Like. . .I didn't cry, which is my usual fallback, and I just kept plugging along. And I finished by 5! One of these days, I'll finish by 4. And maybe one day, I'll meet my 2 o'clock deadline. (Oh, don't look at me like that. The guy in prepress who does the pages doesn't come in until at LEAST 3.)
So the reason I was stressed out. Friday, Vi says to me, "Sarah, can you come into my office? We need to talk about the freelancing."
At this point, I freaked out because, as I mentioned, I've been writing freelance articles, and the first thing I thought was that she'd found out, and I wasn't allowed to do that, and I was in trouble.
(I mean, I know that pretty much everyone does it. Freelances, that is. But that's where my mind immediately went.)
As it turns out, they have cut. . .all of my funding for my publication, meaning I can't pay anyone to write for me anymore. I have a little network of freelancers, three of which were paid. The rest do it because they like to/to get their name out there/whatever. Some of them used to be paid,
but stayed on after Carrie told them she couldn't pay them anymore. I was hoping that these three (The Big 3, if you will) would do the same. Or, at least one of them would do the same.
So I let the three of them know what was up. One of them wrote a "humor" column twice a month and got paid $50 a pop for them. I. . .think she was entirely overpaid, but she was popular within the county and had been doing it pretty much since the beginning, so I guess they consider her worth it. I was told to tell her that she could either do one a month for the usual $50 or, if she still wanted to do two, it would have to be cut back to $25 a month. Yes, that kind of sucks, but if you really like doing something. . .well, I'll come back to that.
One of them got paid $25 for 250 word columns and $35 for 350 word columns. Again, I felt she was overpaid, because honestly? I could write the same thing in a short amount of time. (And now, I probably will have to.)
The last one, I'm not actually sure what she got paid, because she sometimes would write things just because she wanted to and only charged for the bigger ones. She was my favorite. Not just because she's the nicest of the three, but because her work. . .ethic?. . .makes more sense to me. Charge for the bigger articles (which were always really good) and write smaller ones because you want to.
The first person I heard back from was the column-writer. Literally, I cringed when I saw the e-mail from her, because, from what I remember from Carrie talking about dealing with her, I just didn't feel like it would end well.
It didn't, really.
She was kind of bitchy about the "buy-one-get-one-free" deal and said she "couldn't deal with this right now" because she was flying. . .somewhere to do some kid's show or something. She said she'd deal with it when she got back. I'm. . .guessing that's going to be a no. She said she probably wouldn't be writing for me at all anymore.
The second one wrote me back and said she wouldn't be contributing anymore. She also told me that she would cancel the two interviews she already had lined up (which is what put me in a lurch yesterday) and for me to let her know when I could pay her again. That. . .kind of pissed me off. On the one hand, I get it, kind of. On the other hand, that was a commitment she'd already made, and she ended up really screwing me.
When talking about this situation, I've told people that, in college, I worked for my college paper, and I have no idea how much I got paid to do it. I did get paid, and it wasn't a lot, but I didn't really care. I would have done it for free, because I loved doing it. Especially senior year, when I was writing my columns. I LOVED it. So I don't entirely understand why people aren't willing to at least work with me. Maybe not write articles that are as long. Maybe not write them as often. If the guy I freelance for found himself in the same situation and he said he couldn't pay me for what I was doing (which is X-number of 500-word articles), I'd say, well, if you cut the word number down, I'll still do them sometimes.
It's a little different, because he has several writers working for him, but you get the gist.
The last woman said if she had ideas or stories every now and then, she'd still send them to me. And this is why she's my favorite. She gets what I tried to explain above. She likes doing it.
So that's where I am right now. Hopefully, one of these days, the economy will turn around and people will have jobs again and will pay for their advertising (why they don't collect money BEFORE running the ad, I'll never understand) and I can pay the freelancers for their word. And I can tell you one thing: if I'm still in charge when that happens, I will first pay the people who have been writing for me for free. Because they're going to be the ones that help me through.
Oh, speaking of. Those of you who remember my past conundrum, of needing to interview the
person who hates me more than probably anyone else in the county in order to write a center story? Carrie offered to write that story for me. So win-win-win, because I get the person that I feel would be the most instrumental to my story without actually having to speak to her, Carrie gets to write a center story (which. . .I'm assuming she wants to do, since she volunteered to do it), and the woman that hates me gets recognized for her work. Also, I get to be the bigger person (kind of) for including her. So, really, win-win-win-win. Wins all around.
I'm getting a vacation next week! I'll have the entire week off! Of course, that means I'm going to be working my ass off next week to get the publication finished early (early as in. . .Friday), but then I'm going to be not at work for an entire week. I'm not sure I'll really know what to do with myself. But it's not going to be work. I will absolutely NOT be answering any calls that come from the office. None. And if Vi calls me and leaves a message, I will listen to it Friday, when I come back.
Nick's coming home this week! He will be flying in Saturday. I was originally planning to go to the airport when he came in, when I thought he was coming Sunday, but as it turns out, his flight isn't expected until 10:45 p.m. Saturday, and planes are usually late, aren't they? Then he's probably going to sleep through Sunday. So. . .I don't actually know when I'll see him. But he'll be home.
So it's after 5 now. I'm going to go finish an article and maybe get like an hour of sleep.
UPDATE: It is currently 7:42 a.m., the sun is up, and I have written my final two articles so I don't have to worry about them mid-day like I'd intended to. I never went back to sleep. I also had a minor nervous breakdown because I couldn't find one of the articles I'd written, and I thought I was going to have to rewrite it. Damn you, Montpellier, France, for saving to the "My Templates" part of the computer. I'm thinking, while I'm up, I'm going to go get a biscuit for breakfast. I also anticipate being really loopy all day.
Luckily, one of my absolute favorite infomercials is on: For Jack Lalanne's Power Juicer. I. . .really want this juicer. For only four payments of $49.95! It's backed by the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval! It comes with more than 60 recipes (a $25 deal for free). If you call right now, they'll make one of the payments FOR you! That's only three payments of $49.95. But wait! Fitness phenomenon Jack Lalanne wants to celebrate his birthday by taking AN AMAZING $50 dollars off! That's like paying only TWO PAYMENTS of $49.95. Hell to the yeah. I've wanted this thing, seriously, since I first saw the infomercials about a month or so ago when Carrie and I had a sleepover of sorts, where we talked about things girls talk about, ate Doritoes, drank wine, and saw the commercial for this fabulous juicer.
Really, the only infomercial that's even remotely as good is the one for those knives. I don't know the specifics of them, but you get, like 5,000 kinds of knives that can all cut through an aluminum can (and really? I know I often get the urge to cut aluminum cans in half. So these knives are pretty much essential to my everyday life.)
So the reason I'm not sleeping is because I've been trying to not take Tylenol PM. I was afraid I was going to get addicted to it or something. As it turns out, the only thing I'm really addicted to is sleep, and now I'm not getting that. Oh yeah, and crack cocaine.
No, I'm kidding. About the crack cocaine. Not the sleep.
But I really can't sleep without something to help me along. If I drink wine before I go to bed, I can GET to sleep, but I can't STAY asleep. If I just bring myself to the absolute brink of exhaustion, I can sometimes fall asleep, but, again, I can't stay asleep. And with the Tylenol PM, 9 out of 10 nights, I can fall and stay asleep.
So what's been going on with Sarah? I've been working all the time, which is nothing new, but I've also been. . .really, really happy. Like, almost ridiculously so. It's something that you can't really exhibit at work, because then you have to contend with really annoying questions, but I'm smiling a lot more. Yesterday (Monday, my production day), I was a little stressed out when I went into work (I'll get into why in a second), but it was OK. Like. . .I didn't cry, which is my usual fallback, and I just kept plugging along. And I finished by 5! One of these days, I'll finish by 4. And maybe one day, I'll meet my 2 o'clock deadline. (Oh, don't look at me like that. The guy in prepress who does the pages doesn't come in until at LEAST 3.)
So the reason I was stressed out. Friday, Vi says to me, "Sarah, can you come into my office? We need to talk about the freelancing."
At this point, I freaked out because, as I mentioned, I've been writing freelance articles, and the first thing I thought was that she'd found out, and I wasn't allowed to do that, and I was in trouble.
(I mean, I know that pretty much everyone does it. Freelances, that is. But that's where my mind immediately went.)
As it turns out, they have cut. . .all of my funding for my publication, meaning I can't pay anyone to write for me anymore. I have a little network of freelancers, three of which were paid. The rest do it because they like to/to get their name out there/whatever. Some of them used to be paid,
but stayed on after Carrie told them she couldn't pay them anymore. I was hoping that these three (The Big 3, if you will) would do the same. Or, at least one of them would do the same.So I let the three of them know what was up. One of them wrote a "humor" column twice a month and got paid $50 a pop for them. I. . .think she was entirely overpaid, but she was popular within the county and had been doing it pretty much since the beginning, so I guess they consider her worth it. I was told to tell her that she could either do one a month for the usual $50 or, if she still wanted to do two, it would have to be cut back to $25 a month. Yes, that kind of sucks, but if you really like doing something. . .well, I'll come back to that.
One of them got paid $25 for 250 word columns and $35 for 350 word columns. Again, I felt she was overpaid, because honestly? I could write the same thing in a short amount of time. (And now, I probably will have to.)
The last one, I'm not actually sure what she got paid, because she sometimes would write things just because she wanted to and only charged for the bigger ones. She was my favorite. Not just because she's the nicest of the three, but because her work. . .ethic?. . .makes more sense to me. Charge for the bigger articles (which were always really good) and write smaller ones because you want to.
The first person I heard back from was the column-writer. Literally, I cringed when I saw the e-mail from her, because, from what I remember from Carrie talking about dealing with her, I just didn't feel like it would end well.
It didn't, really.
She was kind of bitchy about the "buy-one-get-one-free" deal and said she "couldn't deal with this right now" because she was flying. . .somewhere to do some kid's show or something. She said she'd deal with it when she got back. I'm. . .guessing that's going to be a no. She said she probably wouldn't be writing for me at all anymore.
The second one wrote me back and said she wouldn't be contributing anymore. She also told me that she would cancel the two interviews she already had lined up (which is what put me in a lurch yesterday) and for me to let her know when I could pay her again. That. . .kind of pissed me off. On the one hand, I get it, kind of. On the other hand, that was a commitment she'd already made, and she ended up really screwing me.
When talking about this situation, I've told people that, in college, I worked for my college paper, and I have no idea how much I got paid to do it. I did get paid, and it wasn't a lot, but I didn't really care. I would have done it for free, because I loved doing it. Especially senior year, when I was writing my columns. I LOVED it. So I don't entirely understand why people aren't willing to at least work with me. Maybe not write articles that are as long. Maybe not write them as often. If the guy I freelance for found himself in the same situation and he said he couldn't pay me for what I was doing (which is X-number of 500-word articles), I'd say, well, if you cut the word number down, I'll still do them sometimes.
It's a little different, because he has several writers working for him, but you get the gist.
The last woman said if she had ideas or stories every now and then, she'd still send them to me. And this is why she's my favorite. She gets what I tried to explain above. She likes doing it.
So that's where I am right now. Hopefully, one of these days, the economy will turn around and people will have jobs again and will pay for their advertising (why they don't collect money BEFORE running the ad, I'll never understand) and I can pay the freelancers for their word. And I can tell you one thing: if I'm still in charge when that happens, I will first pay the people who have been writing for me for free. Because they're going to be the ones that help me through.
Oh, speaking of. Those of you who remember my past conundrum, of needing to interview the
person who hates me more than probably anyone else in the county in order to write a center story? Carrie offered to write that story for me. So win-win-win, because I get the person that I feel would be the most instrumental to my story without actually having to speak to her, Carrie gets to write a center story (which. . .I'm assuming she wants to do, since she volunteered to do it), and the woman that hates me gets recognized for her work. Also, I get to be the bigger person (kind of) for including her. So, really, win-win-win-win. Wins all around.I'm getting a vacation next week! I'll have the entire week off! Of course, that means I'm going to be working my ass off next week to get the publication finished early (early as in. . .Friday), but then I'm going to be not at work for an entire week. I'm not sure I'll really know what to do with myself. But it's not going to be work. I will absolutely NOT be answering any calls that come from the office. None. And if Vi calls me and leaves a message, I will listen to it Friday, when I come back.
Nick's coming home this week! He will be flying in Saturday. I was originally planning to go to the airport when he came in, when I thought he was coming Sunday, but as it turns out, his flight isn't expected until 10:45 p.m. Saturday, and planes are usually late, aren't they? Then he's probably going to sleep through Sunday. So. . .I don't actually know when I'll see him. But he'll be home.
So it's after 5 now. I'm going to go finish an article and maybe get like an hour of sleep.
UPDATE: It is currently 7:42 a.m., the sun is up, and I have written my final two articles so I don't have to worry about them mid-day like I'd intended to. I never went back to sleep. I also had a minor nervous breakdown because I couldn't find one of the articles I'd written, and I thought I was going to have to rewrite it. Damn you, Montpellier, France, for saving to the "My Templates" part of the computer. I'm thinking, while I'm up, I'm going to go get a biscuit for breakfast. I also anticipate being really loopy all day.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Layla. You've got me on my knees (Layla). I'm begging darling please (Layla).
Basically? Today was the best day ever.
I know that's kind of a dramatic change from last time I posted, but fact: I was in a good mood all day.
(Before I start in on all that, I want to say that my cousin's husband family is having a difficult time right now and if you're into the whole praying thing, they could probably use it. Also, Dennis' daughter is having surgery tomorrow [don't worry, nothing's wrong], and if you could keep her in your thoughts, too, that'd be cool.)
So anyway, I woke up this morning, and I was just in the best mood. It's been raining for the last few days, and I've been trying to brighten things up a little bit by wearing bright tights. Yesterday's were fuschia (magenta?), and today's were purple. And I blew out my hair, and, thanks to the humidity/rain, it did this cool flipped out thing that I got compliments on all day long. Now I just need to figure out how to make it do that when it's not raining, and I'll be good to go.
Also, I don't hate my hair anymore. I still loathe the bangs, and I will never concede on that, but now that it's not flat-ironed to my head, I think it's actually kind of cute. I'm dealing with the bangs by either spraying them back or wearing headbands.
Anyway, work was good today, Vi was in a rare good mood (she's actually likable when she chooses good moods!) and it was. . .just happy.
Looking back on it, I can't even tell you why today was so good. It just was. I had a really, really good day.
I'm not sure what I'm doing this weekend, but I don't have concrete plans.
I was going to write a big, long entry, but I took my sleep drugs already, and I'm on my way out.
I know that's kind of a dramatic change from last time I posted, but fact: I was in a good mood all day.
(Before I start in on all that, I want to say that my cousin's husband family is having a difficult time right now and if you're into the whole praying thing, they could probably use it. Also, Dennis' daughter is having surgery tomorrow [don't worry, nothing's wrong], and if you could keep her in your thoughts, too, that'd be cool.)
So anyway, I woke up this morning, and I was just in the best mood. It's been raining for the last few days, and I've been trying to brighten things up a little bit by wearing bright tights. Yesterday's were fuschia (magenta?), and today's were purple. And I blew out my hair, and, thanks to the humidity/rain, it did this cool flipped out thing that I got compliments on all day long. Now I just need to figure out how to make it do that when it's not raining, and I'll be good to go.
Also, I don't hate my hair anymore. I still loathe the bangs, and I will never concede on that, but now that it's not flat-ironed to my head, I think it's actually kind of cute. I'm dealing with the bangs by either spraying them back or wearing headbands.
Anyway, work was good today, Vi was in a rare good mood (she's actually likable when she chooses good moods!) and it was. . .just happy.
Looking back on it, I can't even tell you why today was so good. It just was. I had a really, really good day.
I'm not sure what I'm doing this weekend, but I don't have concrete plans.
I was going to write a big, long entry, but I took my sleep drugs already, and I'm on my way out.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Another one bites the dust.
When I get especially bored with my life, I usually end up doing something to my hair. It usually entails cutting off a great deal of hair, changing it to a different color, whatever.
So yesterday, I had an appointment in Asheville to get this haircut that I loved that I found, actually, on the salon's Web site. It was a great deal shorter, with punky, choppy bangs, and
I thought, "That's it. That's exactly what my life needs right now. I need a badass haircut."
I went to get said badass haircut and ended up with. . .imagine, if you will, Catherine Zeta-Jones in Chicago, mixed with a guy (any guy), mixed with Suri Cruise. I have literal Suri Cruise bangs. People keep telling me that I shouldn't hate it but, you know what? I do. I hate it severely.
I'm. . .not pretty anymore. I've never been, you know, the girl that walks into the room and every head turns, but I have never been offensive-looking (save those years between 12 and 14, but everyone has awkward phases.) Now? I look in the mirror and just want to cry. There is nothing feminine about me anymore. I'm not pretty, I'm not cute, I'm just. . .really, really unfortunate-looking.
So much for a happy blog post, because I feel the need to mention that I'm ridiculously lonely, too. In this office at the end of the hall, I never see anyone. People used to stop at my dek to talk to me when I was at the top of the stairs, because I was right there, and now that I'm in this office, I see a lot less of people I'd like to see more of. It's just more out of the way to come talk to me now.
I'm just unhappy today. I guess that's all I really have to say.
So yesterday, I had an appointment in Asheville to get this haircut that I loved that I found, actually, on the salon's Web site. It was a great deal shorter, with punky, choppy bangs, and
I thought, "That's it. That's exactly what my life needs right now. I need a badass haircut."I went to get said badass haircut and ended up with. . .imagine, if you will, Catherine Zeta-Jones in Chicago, mixed with a guy (any guy), mixed with Suri Cruise. I have literal Suri Cruise bangs. People keep telling me that I shouldn't hate it but, you know what? I do. I hate it severely.
I'm. . .not pretty anymore. I've never been, you know, the girl that walks into the room and every head turns, but I have never been offensive-looking (save those years between 12 and 14, but everyone has awkward phases.) Now? I look in the mirror and just want to cry. There is nothing feminine about me anymore. I'm not pretty, I'm not cute, I'm just. . .really, really unfortunate-looking.
So much for a happy blog post, because I feel the need to mention that I'm ridiculously lonely, too. In this office at the end of the hall, I never see anyone. People used to stop at my dek to talk to me when I was at the top of the stairs, because I was right there, and now that I'm in this office, I see a lot less of people I'd like to see more of. It's just more out of the way to come talk to me now.
I'm just unhappy today. I guess that's all I really have to say.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Without your love, I'd be nowhere at all, oh, what would I do? (If not for you.)
I'm loving that this laptop is picking up a random wireless signal from. . .somewhere, so I don't have to plug it up at the moment.
I'm debating on whether or not to go into work today. I'll probably just go in tomorrow and get a lot finished. I have two columns to definitely write (the food column and the Last Word) and there are a couple of other ideas I have that I might get started on. But I don't know.
I was reading my news feed from the N&O, and I came across this story:
I did go to Wal-Mart yesterday, but it wasn't until, like, 7 at night. I had a sweater to return and I bought picture frames. I got all that done, and no one died.
People have weird priorities. Especially now when we're in a recession, or whatever it is we're in at the moment. Instead of buying TVs, how about paying off your credit cards? Or making sure you can make rent this month? Just a thought.
A weekly publication I love (and I think they very loosely call it a "magazine." I suppose it's as much a magazine as mine is.) is Skirt! Magazine. I picked up a copy in Greensboro Thursday, and I've been looking through it, looking for ideas to borrow and/or steal. This little box that always on the front cover says, "Skirt! is all about women. . .their work, play, families, creativity, style, health and wealth, bodies and souls. Skirt! is an attitude. . .spirited, independent, outspoken, serious, playful and irreverent, sometimes controversial, always passionate."
That? Is the kind of publication I want to work for. I mean, I love that I'm the editor of my own publication, but honestly? My hands are tied on a lot of subjects. I'm not allowed to put in reviews of restaurants if there's anything negative said in them. Nothing controversial. Kind of. . .mountain white bread, truth be told. I want something else. I'll do this until I learn everything about it, and add my own touches to it, but I need something bigger, you know? I'm aware that if I want anything bigger, I won't be able to live in this town forever, which. . .sucks in a way. I really do like it here. But there's more out there I need to get to eventually, and there are a lot of things here I need to get away from.
Speaking of things to get away from, I had to go downstairs to Angie and Kristina and make sure that my name was taken off the template for the Obits and the Life sections, because Vi did those for Wednesday's paper, and one headline said something about how an author was going to 'ahare' their book and another said that a couple was going to hold an anniversary 'recpetion.' Now. . .I know people make mistakes, but spell check would have caught that. Ahare and recpetion are not words, and spell check knows that. It's frustrating to have an editor that would clearly rather be a reporter, that doesn't care enough to run spell check. I run spell check over EVERYTHING I do. I mean, I understand if you accidentally type "their" instead of "there," and a proofreader would catch that, if my company would stop being so cheap and hire one, but misspelling things in HEADLINES is why people make fun of us. And it's, 9 times out of 10, because of Vi.
We ran a story a few months ago that said something about 'duel farmer's markets.' Perhaps if the veggie-growers were out there with swords screaming, "En garde!," that would make sense. However, what Vi was going for was that there were two farmer's markets. Dual farmer's markets.
Basically, we all look like a bunch of idiots a bunch of the time.
But I made sure my name was taken off that template, because it looked like I was the one that made those egregious errors. False. I would not misspell "reception." And if I mistyped it? It would be caught when I ran spell check. I'm just sayin'.
I need to ask Dennis to take a new mug shot of me. NewJeff said the one I have in the system made me 'look like I weighed 300 pounds,' and while I know that I shouldn't let what people say bother me, when someone tells me I look fat, I take that particular insult very, very personally. See, one side of my family is all incredibly obese, and I'm terrifie that I'm going to end up like that. I'm not a small girl by any means (it's hard to even pretend to be petite when you tower over most girls), but I'm not going to let myself get to the point where that side of the family is. I will not. So a new mug shot it is, since NewJeff has given me a gigantic complex about the entire thing.
So while I'm aware I shouldn't let what people say bother me, I am, in fact, overly sensitive. I can just ignore it better about some things than others.
I'm debating on whether or not to go into work today. I'll probably just go in tomorrow and get a lot finished. I have two columns to definitely write (the food column and the Last Word) and there are a couple of other ideas I have that I might get started on. But I don't know.
I was reading my news feed from the N&O, and I came across this story:
As store worker died, shoppers kept on
, The Associated Press
NEW YORK - A Wal-Mart worker was killed Friday when "out-of-control" shoppers desperate for bargains broke down the doors at a 5 a.m. sale.Other workers were trampled as they tried to rescue the man, and customers shouted angrily and kept shopping when store officials said they were closing because of the death, police and witnesses said.
At least four other people, including a woman who was eight months pregnant, were taken to hospitals for observation or minor injuries, and the store in Valley Stream on Long Island closed for several hours before reopening.
Nassau County police said about 2,000 people were gathered outside the store's doors at a mall about 20 miles east of Manhattan. The impatient crowd knocked the man, identified by police as Jdimytai Damour of Queens, to the ground as he opened the doors, leaving a metal portion of the frame crumpled like an accordion.
"This crowd was out of control," said Nassau police spokesman Lt. Michael Fleming. He described the scene as "utter chaos."
Dozens of store employees trying to fight their way out to help Damour were also trampled by the crowd, Fleming said.
Items on sale at the store included a Samsung 50-inch Plasma HDTV for $798, a Bissel Compact Upright Vacuum for $28, a Samsung 10.2 megapixel digital camera for $69, and DVDs such as "The Incredible Hulk" for $9.
Damour, 34, was taken to a hospital, where he was pronounced dead about 6 a.m., police said. The exact cause of death has not been determined.
A 28-year-old pregnant woman was taken to a hospital, where she and the baby were reported to be OK, said police Sgt. Anthony Repalone.
Police said criminal charges were possible in the case, but Fleming said it would be difficult to identify individual shoppers. Authorities were reviewing surveillance video.
Wal-Mart Stores Inc., based in Bentonville, Ark., called the incident a "tragic situation" and said the employee came from a temporary agency and was doing maintenance work. It said it tried to prepare for the crowd by adding staffers and outside security workers, putting up barricades and consulting police.
"Despite all of our precautions, this unfortunate event occurred," senior Vice President Hank Mullany said in a statement.
Kimberly Cribbs, who witnessed the stampede, said shoppers were acting like "savages."
"When they were saying they had to leave, that an employee got killed, people were yelling 'I've been on line since yesterday morning,' " she said. "They kept shopping."
That? Is ridiculous. I mean, I like getting good deals as much as the next person, but I've never really understood the whole thing with day after Thanksgiving shopping. Maybe stores shouldn't have things be so ridiculously overpriced throughout the year, and then it wouldn't be such a big deal when prices are where they put them that Friday. I mean. . .starting a sale at 5 a.m.? Really? Why? When I was having lunch with Jan yesterday, we were talking about that, and I said, "You know, there are precious few things in life that would get me out of bed at 5 a.m. Actually. . .you'd have to get out of bed long before 5. The sale actually starts at 5. No thanks.
I did go to Wal-Mart yesterday, but it wasn't until, like, 7 at night. I had a sweater to return and I bought picture frames. I got all that done, and no one died.
People have weird priorities. Especially now when we're in a recession, or whatever it is we're in at the moment. Instead of buying TVs, how about paying off your credit cards? Or making sure you can make rent this month? Just a thought.
A weekly publication I love (and I think they very loosely call it a "magazine." I suppose it's as much a magazine as mine is.) is Skirt! Magazine. I picked up a copy in Greensboro Thursday, and I've been looking through it, looking for ideas to borrow and/or steal. This little box that always on the front cover says, "Skirt! is all about women. . .their work, play, families, creativity, style, health and wealth, bodies and souls. Skirt! is an attitude. . .spirited, independent, outspoken, serious, playful and irreverent, sometimes controversial, always passionate."
That? Is the kind of publication I want to work for. I mean, I love that I'm the editor of my own publication, but honestly? My hands are tied on a lot of subjects. I'm not allowed to put in reviews of restaurants if there's anything negative said in them. Nothing controversial. Kind of. . .mountain white bread, truth be told. I want something else. I'll do this until I learn everything about it, and add my own touches to it, but I need something bigger, you know? I'm aware that if I want anything bigger, I won't be able to live in this town forever, which. . .sucks in a way. I really do like it here. But there's more out there I need to get to eventually, and there are a lot of things here I need to get away from.
Speaking of things to get away from, I had to go downstairs to Angie and Kristina and make sure that my name was taken off the template for the Obits and the Life sections, because Vi did those for Wednesday's paper, and one headline said something about how an author was going to 'ahare' their book and another said that a couple was going to hold an anniversary 'recpetion.' Now. . .I know people make mistakes, but spell check would have caught that. Ahare and recpetion are not words, and spell check knows that. It's frustrating to have an editor that would clearly rather be a reporter, that doesn't care enough to run spell check. I run spell check over EVERYTHING I do. I mean, I understand if you accidentally type "their" instead of "there," and a proofreader would catch that, if my company would stop being so cheap and hire one, but misspelling things in HEADLINES is why people make fun of us. And it's, 9 times out of 10, because of Vi.
We ran a story a few months ago that said something about 'duel farmer's markets.' Perhaps if the veggie-growers were out there with swords screaming, "En garde!," that would make sense. However, what Vi was going for was that there were two farmer's markets. Dual farmer's markets.
Basically, we all look like a bunch of idiots a bunch of the time.
But I made sure my name was taken off that template, because it looked like I was the one that made those egregious errors. False. I would not misspell "reception." And if I mistyped it? It would be caught when I ran spell check. I'm just sayin'.
I need to ask Dennis to take a new mug shot of me. NewJeff said the one I have in the system made me 'look like I weighed 300 pounds,' and while I know that I shouldn't let what people say bother me, when someone tells me I look fat, I take that particular insult very, very personally. See, one side of my family is all incredibly obese, and I'm terrifie that I'm going to end up like that. I'm not a small girl by any means (it's hard to even pretend to be petite when you tower over most girls), but I'm not going to let myself get to the point where that side of the family is. I will not. So a new mug shot it is, since NewJeff has given me a gigantic complex about the entire thing.
So while I'm aware I shouldn't let what people say bother me, I am, in fact, overly sensitive. I can just ignore it better about some things than others.
Friday, November 28, 2008
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 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.
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