The Beach Slum

  I CRY. I CRY I CRY I CRY I CRY. MY EMOTIONS DO NOT END. THE GRIEF HAS NEVER STOPPED. I CRY. I SOB. I BAWL. I WAIL FOR MY BEST FRIEND ON MY KNEES AND MY EMOTIONS WILL NOT END. I CRY. I CRY I CRY I CRY I CRY. I GET DRUNK AND IT IS NEVER FUZZY. THE GRIEF WILL NEVER LEAVE.  i scream in my grief. 

    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...