The Beach Slum

    Anyone remember my super devastating car crash? The one that killed my best friend? And still continues to ruin me every time I get drunk enough to remember I am in actually super crippling grief?     Remember that?     WELL GUESS WHO CANNOT FOR THE LIFE OF HER CATCH A GODDAMN BREAK.     And why is it always on a trip to California? California, what are you trying to say? Am I supposed to stay, and that's why I break down? Do you hate me and that's my punishment? Does it matter to me?     So I'm driving to California, right, because I have to go to USC, to see the super misogynistic doctor who is very obsessed with what my medication is going to do to my womb, if I ever bear fruit, as if I'm bearing fruit at all right now.     And I'm driving safely! It's a bright sunny day, dry roads, light traffic, I am in the left lane behind a black pick up truck, with enough space between us to fit an RV. I know this because there's an RV in the middle lane, next to

      Shortly after I wrote the last post, I went to California, on a road trip, in my new Mazda, with Nick.     I wanted to go to Coronado, but I was afraid. Afraid because the beach Dani and I used to go to all the time was going to prop up memories. Afraid to do it alone, but afraid to do it with Nick. I wasn't sure how I'd react, and I wasn't sure he'd be helpful. Not even I know what to do with my grief. How could an outsider know, even one who knows me best?     A little secret: sometimes I blame Nick for the accident.     That's not fair, and that's not true, but in my most irrational moments, I can trace the fault lines all the way back to him on that day, and I can trace them back even farther.     I moved into my new place that day, he came to see it, left and said we should get dinner. I was sweaty. I'd been cleaning all day. It wasn't a fancy place, but it didn't feel right to go to my first dinner as a renter with sweaty clothes. I decid

      I have been refusing to make this post since it happened.              The family joke from the day I got Dani is that if she went, I went. I would die when she did. And I poured everything I had into making sure she did not. I poured everything I had into that car. The joke was that I would stop paying for repairs when she needed an engine rebuild, and even then, probably not. I'd probably rebuild it. We traded suffering. She drove me when I needed to cry and scream at night, and I suffered sweat and financial costs when she had some issue on the way to the beach.     I was so, so, so stupidly in love with that car. My pride and joy.     Notice the past tense? Tell me you see where this is going, because I want to cry writing this without even saying the words.     I always thought if Dani were to leave me, it would be in the kind way. One final wheeze to the beach and back, and I could let her go.     I did not think it would be violent and cruel. I did not think I'd st

      Can I just say, in the nicest way possible, that Dani terrified me on the way there? I love her to bits and pieces, but I have a trauma response to passing the California welcome booth, because when her coolant relay gave out, that's where it gave out.     I don't think my passenger noticed, because at that point he was starting to yawn, but I was white-knuckling that whole area. Whatever, I've dealt with worse.     It was when we stopped to get gas that I might've fucked up a little. I say get gas, but that's a nicer way of saying my coffee ran through me and I was trying to let Nick sleep, but it was wake him up or pee myself. Needless to say, I pulled over at the next exit and woke him up.      When we got back from the bathrooms, a homeless guy wandered up to me-- me, who had decided to put gas in anyway, even though I had half a tank left, AND I saw the homeless guy, but I refused to be deterred from my mission-- and asked if I had a cigarette. Honestly,

     Since I'm documenting this trip, I figured I should share the one thing I'm realizing about actual trips. The ones with nights, since you all know I mostly do beach days .      Packing is confusing!  It's a beach trip, but I know I'll need actual clothes since I will be perceived outside of the beach and hotel room and yet. I rearranged my beach duffle bag, packed four towels and four swimsuits with shoes and coverups, and I have not packed ANYTHING outside of that.      I literally leave the day after tomorrow. And I have no idea what clothes to pack. I have not even LOOKED at my suitcase. Holy God. Suddenly I can't remember what people put in suitcases to go places. Suddenly I want to pack like I'm going to shit my pants 27 times a day and be lost in the wilderness for a million years.     This is also going to be such a niche post, but maybe I've talked about him enough that you'll all understand/remember. My uncle is always on me to bring water

      It has been so entirely long since I updated this!     In my defense, if you've read some of the past posts, you'd know Dani and I have had our fair share of trials when we drive to the beach, and so, regrettably, I've been a little shy about going. Not that I'm afraid of getting stranded; rather, I'm afraid of... I guess, causing damage so hardcore that I end up losing Dani forever. Which kind of traps me into a self-fulfilling Catch-22, doesn't it?     When I bought her, that was my primary love-- driving her up and down the coast-- and yet I am so afraid to lose her that I deprive her of our love. And so, before the California weather turns mildly chilly, I am endeavoring to the beach once more.     Okay. Also because I went on an opening to Florida, and I've never been, but some Florida beaches are on my list, and then I got eaten alive by bugs and told there was flesh-eating bacteria in the water, and so I was a beach-loving Pisces STUCK, landlock