Sally is crazier than my words can possibly convey. I understand that she may be jealous, lonely, and feel that she is lacking support, but my staying could not possibly help her. She is a financial nightmare—the money pit to end all money pits. I’ll send money when I can. Attempts at selling el carro have been useless. I think I’ll donate her to public radio. If Sally could sell her, I’d be fine with her keeping the money—she needs it. I can survive without it—at least for a little while. She doesn’t see clearly on this and prefers screaming at me to get rid of it. PLAN A: a “for sale” sign. PLAN B: scream it out of your driveway.

Talking reasonably with her is futile—her word choice is impeccable and she is more persuasive than the most persuasive thing you can possibly think of. By the end of most conversations you are nodding in agreement with her and everything you thought you stood for is out the window. I’m not willing to put myself in that situation. I’m leaving—I have to. I’ll lose my mind here.

Onto brighter things: all of my shit is about packed—4 garbage bags of clothes going to goodwill, 2 bags going to the consignment shop, 1 laundry basket filled with shit going to the dump’s “Boutique”, and 1 garbage bag going to the good ol’ dump itself. Sigh. And it will still be a tight car to CT. Good tunes, good company, your nightmare of a cat, and a car filled with all the shit you own—nothing like it.

I’m feeling too stressed and serious. I need drugs—CT should be good for that. Sigh.