Month: May 2024

I’ll depart from my usual format of trying to post each day as it happens, because a fucking lot happened. I’m not even going to try to write it all down now, because I’m exhausted and I will be going to bed shortly. Hopefully I will give it the treatment it deserves tomorrow.

Bullet points:

1. I got to California safely. Twice.

(More on that later)

2. There were fuckups along the way. Some of those were entertaining. Others had me wanting to use various people’s faces as trivets for L’s cast iron. The impulse passed quickly. Sometimes fuckery just spreads out far too thin to be traced back to the source of blame. We should probably all be grateful.

3. Bus travel is indeed cheap but never mind I’m not gonna get into the pros and cons right this fucking minute because BED.

I even got all my packages here and my computer also survived and I’m writing this on it right now. Yey.

Ni ni.

I’m going to bore you all to death if I keep this up, and I’m going starey-eyed so I’ll keep this short.

Not done packing. Dreading it even though I want to leave; I don’t know what’s coming and that kind of lowkey terrifies me. Not enough to freak out but enough for a little anxiety to kick in. But I did get some laundry done, and I’ll do the rest tomorrow early enough since I have to do the sheets anyway. Well. Maybe I don’t HAVE to do the sheets, but I’m fucking doing them anyway. Least I can do. May as well throw in the last little bit that’s dirty while I’m at it since I’ll be showering tomorrow too.

Got music onto the phone. I had some random stuff on my laptop that hadn’t been on my car playlist and I swiped some things off YouTube. Didn’t grab as much as I wanted to, but it got tedious after a little while. It’ll have to do. I can add more when I get where I’m going. I still have that FM radio app on my phone, too, so if I get REALLY bored I can try that.

So far, with the big suitcase, I’m nowhere near hitting the fifty-pound weight limit. I don’t think I’m even halfway there. That takes a load off my mind, haha. But I have to make allowance for the laptop, and maybe also the blanket if I can fit it. I’ll just stuff both in right quick to see what that does to the weight and then make decisions from there. The laptop definitely has to go with me. The blanket does not. If Carrie wants to keep it, great; if she says she’ll send it, that’s fine too. I’m good either way. I put a lot of work into that thing, but she gave me a safe place to stay til I could launch and I didn’t have to tiptoe around my father anymore. That’s priceless. It almost matches the sheet set on this twin bed, too. Did not see that coming.

I think I am going to be militantly curating my possessions from here on out because managing this shit is too much when I have to keep moving. I do not know when I will stop having to fucking move.

I’ve had a lot more than that on my mind but this whole 2.5-year experience has left me doing the death-march thing of metaphorically staring down at the ground as I walk, one foot in front of the other, just focusing on where I am because I can’t even think about the future anymore. So where I would normally be boring the shit out of you by going into a long philosophical ramble about various things… nah. A cannae be fucked, as the Scots would say. Maybe later.

Okay. Time to depress myself with that fucking luggage scale. Whee!

P.S. I was right about that old micro SD card. Deader than dogshit. Getting the new one was a good call.

Went for what is very likely my last trip to Walmart in Jennings. I mean, that’s what I thought when I last moved to Ohio and then I turned out wrong, but I can’t think of any reason why I would go back there unless it is a last-minute thing tomorrow night. And it probably won’t be. Also possible I would come back to visit, at least to visit Carrie, and maybe I’d go there under those circumstances, but the way my life’s gone I kind of doubt it.

I needed to figure out provisioning for the road, and I didn’t want something that would melt and I know most Atkins bars have chocolate on or in them. So I got a couple boxes of Quest bars. Also got some powders to add to my water bottle: caffeinated lemonade in lieu of coffee (I do not want caffeine withdrawal while trapped in a transit bus), and some electrolyte powder for later in the day because if I’m filling my bottle at water fountains and/or sinks, which is the plan, I have no idea how it’s going to taste. I would need the electrolytes anyway.

Pill organizer for my incidentals. A couple compartments have antacids in them which, I don’t really need those at this point, but if something comes up then they’ll be nice to have. The bottle they came in is heavy and I need to minimize bag weight. A couple other compartments have Tylenol and ibuprofen respectively, which I rarely use but might be nice to have. The remaining four compartments have most of my multivitamin supply (there were four tablets left when I got done and I’ve already taken one). The bottles these were all taken from will either be staying here or going out with the trash, as in the case of the ibuprofen, which is four years past its expiration date (oops) but seems to still work. I tend to take that one when my joints pick up some inflammation. Which will likely also not be a problem anymore for the same reason heartburn isn’t really a problem, but best to prepare in case.

My B12 and magnesium will stay in their bottles, but better two bottles than six. I could have gotten a second organizer because they’re cheap, but I hadn’t thought that all the way through. It doesn’t matter.

Luggage tags. Those are now set up and attached to their bags. And when I found them, I found a luggage scale. It was seven bucks and will save me more than twice that amount now that I’ll know I’m within the allowed limits. And I can keep it to use again in the future. It’s small enough.

Atkins shakes to last me my last little bit before I leave so I am not over-relying on catch as catch can. I’m in a mode of maximizing protein and minimizing carbs, except for a piece of cornbread and three fried cheese sticks I’ve had since I came to Carrie’s, and now I’ve got trail mix for the road which will be some carbs but shouldn’t be ridiculous. Just, if I feel munchy, it’s there and more “natural” than not. With any luck it’ll bung me up a little, too. I dread taking a shit on the bus. Both for me and for the other passengers. I’ll have adequate time to get it done at changeovers, so let’s just save it for then.

(It did occur to me to also grab Immodium. Probably should have, but we’ll see how things go. I won’t be drinking coffee on the road so at least that won’t be giving me the shits.)

I also got a mini SD card and honestly that was my worst individual purchase; it was about $26ish. It’s for my phone and I want to put music on it for the road. Either I will get bored or some idiot will be making annoying noises and I want to be prepared for either eventuality. The card will continue to be useful after that, as it can store photos. I don’t want to make it a permanent habit to never download my phone photos to my laptop but realistically, right now that’s not a high-priority situation.

Also got travel-size 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner. It’s labeled for men, but I smelled it in the store and it’s not bad. I’d have gotten one labeled neutral or for women if the store had had it just because old habits die hard, I suppose. It’ll do me until I can set myself up on the other end. My current bottle of 2-in-1 is huge and has a pump. I am not traveling with that fucking thing. Dad and his bloody fucking fickleness. I bought that shampoo because I thought I was staying.

I appreciated Brenda being willing to take me to the store but I gotta say, I could like her driving a lot better than I do. It worked out, though, and it was nice to have someone to talk to for a few minutes going and coming back. I’ll see her Sunday too, because she’s coming along for the drop-off.

Lala (Stanford) and I have mostly stayed out of one another’s way. My long, long experience with men in general has led me to understand that I can’t control how a guy will interpret me treating him like, I dunno, a normal fucking person and I have to be alone with him until Sunday, so I would rather not even approach that can of worms. He’s been nice enough. I just don’t take it at face value because I’ve seen how he is when he talks about Brenda and some other people. So he’s likely talking about me when he gets the chance too. The less ammo I give him, the better. It doesn’t ultimately matter because I don’t know the people he talks to and I couldn’t give less of a shit what, specifically, they think but I guess I have still not given up caring what people in general think of me. I’m closer to getting over that than I used to be. It is a whole process. I’ll get there eventually.

But he baked some catfish filets last night and made some crawfish etoufée to go with. I’ve never had the latter and wasn’t ever inclined to try it because I was pretty sure it was full of onions and peppers. Well, I was right about the peppers. I’m okay with crawfish if I don’t have to peel them so basically it was pick crawfish out of the sauce and then scrape the peppers and things off the fish and eat that too. And FYI it was a prefab mix. I’ve seen his pantry. Nothing wrong with that (other than maybe some nutritional differences) but I didn’t want to convey the idea that he’d gone to all this trouble and I was turning up my nose. It’s like Cajun Hamburger Helper. There’s not an actual lot of work involved.

Went through my stuff somewhat with The Fifth Element playing on Tubi. I need to finish up tomorrow. Just have it done and ready because I still have to do laundry and it’ll be easier to subtract if I already have this stuff mostly done.

There is nothing like some solitude with minimal pressure to do anything RIGHT FUCKING NOW, when you’ve got my sort of brain, to finally figure out things the most sensible way.

Okay. So. Last we discussed this, I was mulling over transferring all my files to my cobbled-together external hard drive to carry in my carry-on while leaving my laptop in my checked baggage. The plan was fine as far as it went. I was a little worried about someone stealing the fucker anyway and then knowing a hacker who could take all my info off (even if you format a drive, the info’s still there, and I wouldn’t have formatted), but apart from that.

Well, tonight (thank fuck I hadn’t started yet), I realized I had another option.

I could just yank the existing fucking hard drive.

And carry it in my carry-on. And still put the laptop itself in the checked bag.

DUH.

I even still have a teeny screwdriver that will help me get the machine apart and take its brain out. MMM. BRAINS. So basically all I have to do is set things up sometime Saturday night or maybe Sunday morning and I’ve got it fucking made.

Scary? You bet. Something could go wrong. But you know what? If something goes wrong I could get another fucking laptop and stick my current hard drive into my “external hard drive” housing, where I currently keep the drive from my LAST computer but I could swap them out. I DO have a bit of financial wiggle room. In a pinch, to replace the laptop, I would use it. I have already priced them at Walmart. It’s doable.

But I don’t think it will happen. And bonus? If someone does steal the laptop? It’ll be fucking useless to them HAHAHAHAHA.

Okay. That is a load off my mind.

Brenda stopped by earlier to check on me and we have worked out that she will stop by tomorrow again and we’ll go to Walmart. I have a few odds and ends I want to get that should make travel easier. Made a list already. Now I’m tired. ‘Night.

Busy busy day.

Carrie nixed the morning ticket because she doesn’t get back from visiting Corey’s until 6pm-ish. She is fully aware we’re pretty much going to be turning around and going right back out the door, and is fine with that. So, good thing I didn’t buy the tickets yet. I’m making a lot of good calls lately. I can’t decide if those are offsetting my insanity in picking up and going to California, but I don’t really want an answer to that question yet.

Went with Carrie to her appointment, and Brenda went along (she seems better). Carrie watched her true crime and I fucked off on my phone. Nice to do it without Silently Judging sitting next to me like sitting and glaring at the waiting room would have been the superior course of action.

After that, we went to the post office on Bertrand. Bless their hearts, I went into the place four times with packages stacked on my little wheelie cart. There were two clerks at the counter and each got two runs. The only real hitch was that the two so-called “large flat rate” boxes I got from the Iota post office… were not flat-rate. So one of them cost me seventy bucks. There were a few others I could have wished were cheaper, but nothing catastrophic. I was hoping for a $300 run, I gave myself a mental cushion to $500 because I’d made $2000 off the car and could allow for it, and I think I got to $570ish? I can’t remember. Definitely over five hundred. When you consider it would have cost me more than $1800 to rent the smallest U-Haul truck because they don’t let you take their vans out of town, I got off light. The boxes (and one big envelope — and that was surprisingly cheap) are all numbered and I’ve listed them. We’ll see what comes in when I get to Crescent City. The only additional snag I might have to worry about besides something not getting to its destination is if it stresses L out, especially if there’s something she can’t quite lift. I hope not. I am not going to disturb that ant’s nest. I have bugged her enough and we will just have to wait and see. But mad props to the Bertrand post office in Lafayette for their professionalism. The woman in particular was very kind. I’m so tired of random idiots ragging on the USPS. I still feel the good far outweighs the bad.

(If you ever have to ship fifteen boxes — actually fourteen boxes and one big envelope — do what I did and use a little wheelie cart like you use for luggage, and then go in with a few boxes at a time and go to the end of the line every new time you walk in. It dilutes the work for the poor sod behind the counter to something more manageable and you don’t hog the line. Did not hear one grumble behind me the whole time I was there.)

After the post office we went to Sonic and got gigantic drinks because by then we were all dried out. Carrie also got fried cheese sticks. I have been very good the past few weeks, but I could eat three cheese sticks and not have a huge problem. So I did. Never had the Sonic ones. The seasoning they use is just [chef’s kiss]. I need to figure out a keto version that I can like. I have always had problems with using cheese sticks in frying and baking. The cheese wants to melt into everything. How do you do this. HOW.

While all this is going on, we’re all gabbing in the SUV. More stuff about my dad. The fact of his not driving came up in conversation and I mentioned what he’d told me, that he couldn’t mentally focus well anymore and that was why he’d given up his license. Guess what. From what Carrie understands, the man has had at least one DWI. She told me that in the last little while that he was still driving, she got in the car with him and noticed he had to breathe into something to start the car. She queried him about it — Carrie doesn’t have much of a filter — and he said something about having stopped at a bar on the way home from work and the cops had pulled him over as soon as he started driving again. Couched it like it was some kind of trap. I pointed out that they have to breathalyze you to bust you for DWI. They can’t just assume. People drive home from the fucking bars all the fucking time without having to get breathalyzed to start a fucking car. But, y’know, he lies. She knows he lies. She said as much. I want to say she mentioned him having had an accident at some point too, but don’t quote me on that. I did share with her about the time I was a teenager and Reba was going through her abuse recovery shit and suddenly felt the overwhelming need to talk with her sister about it, so nothing would do but that we alllllll had to go to where Linda lived, and we were in the Memphis area at the time and I want to say Linda was in St. Louis. Worst-case, Chicago. Anyway this was at night and we were bopping along up Interstate 55 with Dad steadily drinking and Reba not sober herself and bottles of various alcoholic beverages rolling around at my feet. Here comes a cop and pulls Dad over. He chatted with Dad a bit and probably noticed his breath and demeanor and suggested, “Mr. Seilhan, how about you let your wife drive.” And THAT WASN’T ANY BETTER, but I suspect the main reason he didn’t just bring Dad up on charges right there was he noticed us kids in the back seat and didn’t want to scare the shit out of us or get social services involved. That’s my theory. Dude’s probably long dead by now (he was middle-aged then) and I can’t prove anything. I could tell this was the first Carrie had heard of this incident, but it is testimony to how badly Dad has fucked everything up that she wasn’t surprised, either.

But everyone else’s gonna tell themselves I left because I’m lazy. Sure, Jan.

Then we stopped at Walmart on the way back. Carrie got gas and I got some more Atkins shakes (I have been living on those things, with varying degrees of whatever, for the past couple weeks) and a twelve-pack of Diet Dr. Pepper because I’ve been drinking up Carrie’s. I tried to use up the last of my gift cards but I just happened to wind up at a checkout that had a faulty hand-scanner. Well, I need to check my balances. Could be I used it all up already and didn’t know. I did have some balance, but not as much as I’d expected.

Carrie stopped at some random house in the Iota area after that and dropped off $20 because a former student of hers lives there and just graduated high school. It is this particular class and she got particularly attached to them and so she’s been giving each of the students $20 for a bit now as graduation gifts. And that is just the sort of person she is.

She got us all back to the house and I checked the mail and my carry-on bag’s here. It’ll do. I could wish for it to be slightly larger but it has a shoulder strap which will probably function as a cross-body, and it’s small enough I should be able to handle it easily.

Corey came over when he was done with his whatever, we exchanged greetings and hugs (damn, I don’t think I have seen him since he was in grade school and now he’s a husband and father???), and he and Carrie took off. Carrie told me before she left to call Brenda if I needed anything and texted me Brenda’s number. Brenda for her part looked in on me and reminded me to let her know if I needed anything. I think we’ve got that much sorted.

After they were gone, I finally pulled the trigger and bought the tickets. I am wowed by the technological advances in taking bus transit. I have both tickets on my phone AND in my email inbox and it’s basically scan the barcode the whole way, every time I change buses.

And now we wait. I feel a bit of a fanny staying here this many days waiting for Sunday, but if I use the time wisely then I can prepare properly. I don’t know if I will get all the prep done well, BUT, I’ll get some of it. I feel fairly confident about that. If I have to leave a few things here, oh fucking well. I’ll make sure they’re absolutely replaceable. Someone will find a use for them. Fair trade for the checked bag and wallet, I think.

Late last night I got a notice from Carvana that the payment process was complete. I couldn’t tell from my end when I logged into Chime. Old Me from three years ago might have been furious and panicky. Current Me thought, Well, clearly some signal has not come all the way through yet. Let’s sleep on it.

Good call. The deposit was in this morning.

Tanked up on a couple cups of coffee, then cooked breakfast and while I was doing that, Doug called. It was nice for once to not practically put my head through the window or have to sit outside in the humidity just to continue the conversation. Also, now that I have more of a clue about speakerphone, juggling manual tasks and a phone call is SO much easier. The upshot of the call was:

– My niece should be in baseball (fuck softball)

– Doug and I have both more or less given up on Dad. Even if he were to come around — about anything, really — neither of us would trust it

– Breakthrough. Just about everyone in my life wants to ignore what I write and come ask me the same fucking questions I already answered. The lightbulb has finally gone on for Doug and he realizes it’s there if he wants answers. I don’t know who got a hold of my brother, but I like what’s going on so far. Could they tackle everyone else who knows me, too? That would be fucking fantastic.

It isn’t that I don’t want conversation, it’s the deliberately pretending that I don’t choose that avenue of expression and basically having the position that my words don’t matter unless they get to control how I share those words. Man, just quit doing that. It’s never going to work and it wastes time.

So maybe there’s some hope there. Good timing, I suppose.

He’s heard from Thea again and Thea is pulling this shit of “don’t tell my mom we’re talking.” Doug told her that of course he’s going to let me know how she’s doing, and she just sort of accepted that. I told Doug flat out that I was glad she was doing well but that she acts like this and I haven’t hurt her at all, that my worst offense is not going along with the gender stuff. I opined that it’s probably the anxiety. He agreed that she definitely seems like a super anxious person. But he has also told her that he always has space for her if she ever needs a place to go. WHERE ARE THE ALIENS AND WHAT DID THEY DO TO MY BROTHER

I’d like to get to the point I can offer her that too, but it’s nice to know someone in the family cares.

I had hoped to get at least half my stuff mailed today but apparently L is really super busy. As much as I hated Matt for always dicking me around when I needed to talk with him about things — and at least part of the time, he was dicking me around — I suppose in a weird roundabout way it also taught me patience. The reason I needed to hear from L was I needed her mailing address. Can’t leave til I’ve shipped my stuff. Will not count on anyone else to do it. Lesson fucking learned. Sad part is I honestly think Carrie would have mailed things for me if I had promised to send her the postage and then followed through. But I’d rather not find out and I’m imposing on her enough already. Anyway, toward the afternoon, L and I finally connected. I have to mail the stuff tomorrow, but I know where it’s going. It is in Carrie’s SUV with my luggage-wheelie-cartlike thingie ready to go.

(Want to hear something sad? I used to be a lot more patient. I don’t know what happened. If this is a trend in a better direction, I will endeavor to keep it going. I don’t like me being impatient. It leads nowhere good.)

I did find out something interesting though! There are actually two stops in Lafayette where people can depart on buses. One of them is right north of I-10 at a truck stop. The arrival time in Medford is exactly the same, BUT, that one departs at ten-something in the morning. I wouldn’t be dragging Carrie downtown after sunset. COOL. I will run it by her and then get the damn ticket before it gets crazy high. They will go up to about $500 if you wait too long. If she nopes the morning bus, the evening bus is still an option and then she’s the one who said go in the evening and I’ll feel a lot better about it.

But in the meantime, as I have this additional time, I have run into an interesting quandary. The baggage size limits on Greyhound are stupid. They are actually smaller than for the airlines. I wouldn’t care because I don’t have a huge amount to travel with, but my laptop is half an inch too wide for the carryon, which must be 16″ on its largest dimension. That’s not going to work.

But I have this external hard drive, see. I could move all my shit over to it because hey, it’s got a lot of room, and then I could keep the external drive with me, and I could put the laptop into its carry bag which is really slimline, and then chuck that whole thing into the checked bag. Wrapped in my Sophie blanket, probably. I would be the one putting it on the bus; I don’t think they put any of that shit through x-ray machines. If they do now and they ask, I’ll just tell them the truth. Whatever they “recommend,” I’ve got to pass muster with luggage size. That’s THEIR fault. I don’t acquire my fucking computers based on whether they will fit on a fucking bus. I don’t know anyone who does. Anyway, I’ll use a luggage lock. I had to order a carryon bag from Amazon and I went ahead and got a lock for the checked bag while I was at it. Don’t need to lock the carryon. Though my iPad will be in it. I can’t let both computers out of my sight.

(Isn’t that pathetic? Homeless, mostly broke — that two grand has already been whittled down to Just Under Two Grand — and owns two computers! I wouldn’t be able to get jack shit out of them if I sold them. I wish well-to-do people understood how much the secondary market fucks the poor. Pawn shops are only one part of the problem. I once sold a pair of 14k gold earrings set with amethysts, diamonds, and emeralds to a JEWELRY STORE, not a pawn shop, and made $25. In I think 2000? My god. It immediately went to gas in my car. I miss those earrings.)

Point is, if I really bore down on it, it’d take me a few days to accomplish the file transfer. Good thing I’ve got time to kill.

Okay, I want to take a shower in the morning. Doesn’t mean I will, but I want to, so I should go to bed. I’m running out of steam anyway. ‘Night.

Got up, showered, found that Brenda had arrived. “Hope I didn’t wake you.” I had thought I’d heard Stanford, but maybe it was her. Wasn’t a big deal, I hadn’t stayed awake for long, so I said no.

Went to Jennings and dropped off the rest of my donations, including the backpack. Observed that they’re open from 1pm to 5pm on Sundays. Oh well. Despite me dragging a little (considering my sleep had been fairly good), I had gotten off to a pretty good start timewise, so no great loss. Went on to Murphy’s and got gas for Car-car (my stupid nickname for the Sonata) for the last time. Just ten bucks because I’m not giving Carvana my fucking gas money.

Went back to Carrie’s and after a bit, she and Brenda climbed into Carrie’s SUV and we all hauled outta there. I had put the car paperwork on the passenger seat when prepping to go to Goodwill, so I had everything. Gasp.

The rep helping me out at Carvana had her just-older-than-newborn baby with her and was pleasant and helpful. Got to see cute baby and also not be dicked around. That was nice. The only slight hitch was she couldn’t scan the barcode under the VIN in the doorframe, but you can get around that by typing it in. And… I’m getting the full $2000. Apparently. She said to give it one to two business days.

I have felt naked and vulnerable all day since. It’s weird knowing I have to ask for rides now. That was so much of my life and I never wanted to be back here again.

We went to Carrie’s sister’s after Carvana because the sister is either in north Broussard or south Lafayette and I think it’s the former. And wasn’t that an enlightening conversation because apparently the sister knows Dad too? And finally it came out because both Carrie and her sister are of the opinion that Dad went to Montana because Carrie got married. It was one of those lightning “I KNEW IT” moments. Carrie talked a little more about it than she had previously. Apparently, at one time, Dad had gotten to the point of trying to control where Carrie could go and what she could do. This was a complaint I heard from Reba at least a couple times, and I bet if I asked Mom I would hear the same thing. Hell, just the other day he was trying to tell me how I was supposed to angle my room fan. Dude, let people fuck up once in a while. Or, don’t just assume they are fucking up, because we don’t all do things the same way. Some questions have definite answers, some don’t.

The sister (I’m sorry I can’t remember her name) feels Dad just wants to be alone to drink himself to death, which is interesting because I’m not sure she ever actually spent that much time around him. But that’s also a thing I hear from multiple people. Will anyone do anything about it? I have mixed feelings about that too. My first impulse is “fuck no, someone intervene so we can fix him,” but no one’s ever figured out how to fix an addict. When they get fixed, they decide they want it for themselves. If you could change a person’s mind, like literally alter their brain, wouldn’t that violate their rights somehow? I don’t know what the right answer is here. I suppose it depends on why he’s an alcoholic. I don’t think even he could honestly answer that question at this point.

Oh and guess what? I’ve been grumbly for a while because he sold his nice old trailer to Rafael? He didn’t sell his trailer to Rafael. He gave it away to him. Signed it away. For free. We’ve been living in that shitbox because he gave away a multi-thousand-dollar home because he didn’t want to watch his best friend be married to someone else.

Right but I make all the shitty decisions in life

And he fucking lied. I’m 99.9 percent positive he told me he SOLD it to Rafael.

And from what Carrie says, he wasn’t taking care of it anyway. The ceiling in the master bath was falling in — that lovely master bath with the Jacuzzi tub — and he wasn’t doing shit about it. That put me in mind of the mushy floor in the master-bathroom shower and the way a tree fell on the other end of the trailer during Hurricane Rita and you could see the water damage through the hallway wall — the plastic wall covering was rippling. I don’t get how someone becomes a Navy senior chief and then does not take care of things, and at that point he still sort of could — if nothing else, he could hire it done. Nada. Fucking… He’d have a decent place to live now. I do not understand that man.

Came back here, got to talking about luggage and Carrie’s got some pieces she doesn’t use and it turned out Stanford had some extra stuff too. So right now it looks like I have the checkable suitcase, which rolls, thank you very much, and also a wallet because I wanted a leather one that zips around and Stanford had bought one that he ended up not liking. I am not sure about the bag they suggested for carryon. Reason: I want to keep my document pouch on my person. We’ll work that out. I still have that gift-card stuff to spend (I am not sure I can take it out of state, so why chance it) and sixty in cash. One bag in the dimensions Greyhound allows won’t be a big deal.

Have been disgruntled because I had hoped that Chime would deposit the Carvana money early, but no such luck. Carvana has told me this evening that they completed the payment process from their end. So it’s tenterhooks time. I need to notify the OMV (Office of Motor Vehicles — Louisiana’s name for it) that I sold the car and I’m a little afraid they will want me to pay them something. As it is, I owe GEICO thirtysomething bucks, prorated for this month. If OMV doesn’t fuck me, that’ll be okay. I just want to get this shit SORTED. The OMV’s tab is staying up on my browser until that money comes through.

Have looked over possibilities for travel AGAIN… like, given where all the stops are, why do I have to go to Medford? I have tried starting in Lafe. and stopping in Sacramento and getting on a different bus to Crescent City and that option’s not available, not even through FlixBus, which does the last leg of my trip to Medford. Make it make fucking sense. So I had best leave it the way it is.

It is looking like I really have to leave here at the evening departure, though, which seems to usually be around 9:15. It’s the only way I will make the transfer to the Crescent City bus in anything like a reasonable amount of time. And if I wait til the day prior to get the tickets, they’ll be closer to $500 than to under $300. It may be that it’ll be as late as Saturday or Sunday before I can take off. Which I have already explained the situation to Carrie, and she’s fine with that. She gets back from Corey’s on Friday afternoon anyway.

But it’s fret fret fret in the meantime. I WANT MY MONEY

I miss my car.

I don’t miss the bills associated with said car, though. Because that’s the other thing that would have sunk me.

Okay. I had to rip this out of myself and you don’t want to know how long it took. Bedtime. Zzzzz.

Dad did me the favor of taking a nap early enough that I was able to do what I told Carrie I would do in a text to her this morning and get over to her house by early afternoon. The most hair-raising bit was getting my stuff out to my car. The front door was squeaking, you see. I decided it was better for Dad to have to contend with a few flies than for me to have to contend with a big fight if he got up in the midst of my moving-out, and our usual practice with groceries had been to leave the door open until we’d gotten them all inside, so that’s what I did this time too. It helped that once I had the things out the door that screamed OBVIOUSLY MOVING OUT, what I had left was entirely reasonable: the trash bag I was taking out last thing. No problem. I left the note in the previous post on my bed with his housekey and mail key, and I beat feet.

Carrie had advised me that she was visiting her mother but that “you know what to do” — I’ve had a standing invitation to go over to her place whenever I need the internet, which meant using her hidden front door key to get in. She showed me where it was. I had maybe taken her up on it once ever because I feel weird going into people’s houses when they’re not home, but this was a special case. Turned out I didn’t need to unlock anything. Stanford was home and the door was open. He was a little surprised to see me but I explained the situation and then he seemed totally cool about it. I know for a fact he bitches about people behind their backs (I’ve seen/heard him at it) so I am not taking that at face value, but I also don’t plan on being here long enough for it to matter, so I played along.

Got the rest of my parcels in. Made sure everything I needed to donate was in the car. Set up the car paperwork left out where I will see it tomorrow when I go sell the car so that I don’t leave it behind, because that is exactly what I would fucking do and furthermore, I wouldn’t realize it until I’d passed Scott or something. Oh my fucking god.

Nasty storm after I got settled in — it was like it was just waiting for me to get here. Darkened sky, lots of thunder and drama and nonsense, rain blowing HORIZONTALLY and at one point we could not see the trees across the road. Got a little hail too.

Found a page on Greyhound’s site listing the size limits of carryon and checked luggage; found that Matt’s backpack is too large and nothing will make it not too large. Earmarked it to go to Goodwill in the morning. Mixed feelings about that. It’s a good backpack. It did come from Asshole, though. Probably better off rid.

Not sure if Stanford and Carrie are still sleeping in different rooms, meaning him down on my end, so am not showering tonight though, fuck, I fucking need it. This humidity has been fucking killing me; I’m not surprised it led to an almost literal shitstorm. But I mentioned Carrie’s central A/C, I think? It’s nice and comfy in here.

And there is a body pillow on the bed! I will wrap it in my Sophie blanket. That’ll be nice.

Don’t get excited. When I left, he was fine. This is just what I left on my bed for him, with his keys.

And if anyone has any fucking questions, I photographed the fucking thing, too.

—

12 May 2024

Dad,

Yes, I’m gone.

I wanted to wash the sheets before I went, but the situation didn’t seem to allow it. I did at least remake the bed [with the other set of sheets].

I also wanted to do that trash can swap for you, and then I thought about it. And then I got mad. I don’t want to keep doing and undoing and redoing pointless things for someone who turns around and calls me slow and stupid and doesn’t even like me.

Your words (“I don’t like you”). And no, that wasn’t the B&C [bourbon & Coke] talking. I don’t think I could ever believe you actually liked me. You just happened to say the quiet part out loud that one time.

And now we need to set a few things straight because there won’t be another chance.

I know and understand a lot more than I let on. Two reasons. One, you often get angry for irrational reasons. Two, everything I say you have got to get nasty about it. If I am just going to be told I’m stupid, there is no point. And the actually stupid part is, sometimes you are dead fucking wrong, and I find myself nodding along or yes-sir-ing or saying nothing because there is no point. You will not be persuaded.

I am not stupid. You hate my smarts. You cannot possibly come up with a good excuse for that. I did not force my brain to be like this. It’s like hating me for having two arms. You know, you are no dummy yourself. You need to find better uses for it than putting people down, or slowly poisoning it.

About the job thing: I am not leaving because you wanted me to work. That is an entirely reasonable request. I am leaving because you said “do something” and when I did, suddenly it was “no, not that something.” You literally wanted me to leave for having no job when I had a job. You didn’t say I had to make five hundred a week. When I was last here and said I couldn’t settle for low wages, you thought I got too big for my britches. Now I’m bad for making low pay. You know what? I don’t need this. I am under too much pressure already, and the people who should be in my corner want to take potshots at me. That is bullshit. I never did that to you and trust me, I could have. You gave me lots of material.

You lectured me about your post-Navy working life. Yeah, I had a job right after the Army, too. It lasted two years and then the Army made my husband move. The number of times I lost a job due to a man is not zero and is greater than one. I also had more responsibility for my children than you ever had for yours because women have to pay for someone to mind our kids. You were pretty much constantly employed. I was out of the workforce for 17 years. Do you really think I had the same chances in the job market as you? Based on what?

My situation is worse than you want to believe. I could make $50k a year for the next 17 years, which is how long I have, and it would not be enough. Maybe if I only lived to 70, but not otherwise. Your side of the family might only make it to 70 or so, but Mom’s tends to get into the high 80s.

And I can’t make $50k a year, so there’s that. I’d be lucky to crack $25k.

So, two things are true: (1) I need to retrain into something higher-paying. (2) It needs to be something a sick old lady can do, because I will not get to quit.

And don’t act like this is some special failing on my part. Lots of middle-aged women go through this. The only ones not suffering in this way are some degreed professionals (lots of them are broke too) and women living with a man. That is not “doing well.” That is walking a high wire without a net. These women don’t have money either. Their boyfriends and husbands do.

I should have been able, two years ago, to work through my grief and then figure out a game plan for my situation. Matt was sending me $600 a month. It was the perfect time. You just could not let go of your burning need to boss around the stupid person. You think you’re angry? You have no idea what I have been carrying around for fifty years. I had to burn through resources I should have conserved, like my car, because you got mad every time I looked at a screen. That was not “help,” Dad. That endangered me. If I were half as stupid as you think I am, I would be dead now.

As for your grandchildren, I only “lost” one of them, and you can thank my ex’s family for that one. Would you have helped me get a lawyer? No. I never lost custody of the other, because for once Matt didn’t do the asshole thing. Lazy, I guess. She was almost 17 anyway, which puts me well ahead of you when you ditched D.R. [my brother Doug] in 1992.

How much of your beef with me is just anger at yourself?

Probably a whole fucking lot.

I can’t help you. Only you can, and you won’t.

Enjoy your solitude again. Wear your Life Alert.

-Dana

Late last night or in the wee (ha ha) hours of this morning, I got up to pee and did my thing with the lights off except for the bathroom nightlight and as I was first lowering the raised seat to pee I thought, “Huh, someone had a hell of a shit… there’s a big skidmark in there.” Then, as I was flushing and starting to lower the lid, I realized the “skidmark” had a particular familiar shape. Oh hell no. Blinked on the light just a couple seconds and… it was a dead tree roach. And here’s the fucking mystery. Did that little shit (see what I did there) fall into the toilet and drown? Did Dad spray it and then drop it into the water? Inquiring minds don’t really want to know. I PEED ON A TREE ROACH, Y’ALL. That’s all that needs said.

This is likely the last full day I’ll be at Dad’s. Not trying to be dramatic (no, really), just giving a heads-up to the grand total of five fucking bots who ever read this. Anyway, I’m within sight of the goal. Given what’s going on around here, I probably won’t be able to do laundry before I walk out, but it would be weird if Carrie didn’t let me use her facilities if I asked. And I have a plan for making sure that pretty much everything gets done and that I won’t be left with dirty clothes in my laundry bag, now that I’ve had to trot that out again — I can travel with some clothes dirty like that, but I really wouldn’t want to.

I have an appointment with Carvana in Broussard (Lake Charles was not even an option) on Monday at 1pm. Had I thought things through a little bit better, I might have gone later in the day, but it is just as well because I-10’s traffic between Lafayette and about… I’m gonna say… Scott? westbound is ridonkulous starting at about 3 or 4pm and it’s not fair to do that to Carrie even if her SUV is more up to the job. I may have actually hit the sweet spot without even trying, because I have a couple things to do before we go over there. I have one more Goodwill dropoff to do if I can’t get it done tomorrow (my bet’s on no), and I really should wash and vacuum the car, which I may or may not get done tomorrow and thus wouldn’t have to do it Monday. But I at least have wiggle room for both on Monday, if need be, if I get my ass moving in the morning.

Back in ’99 after I got Mike arrested and was suddenly homeless (but spare-bedroom- and couch-surfing), I spent a lot of time writing out to-do lists. I find myself doing that again. I’ve done it a few other times between then and now, but always in times of crisis. I write to-do lists in times of crisis for the same reason I hate getting interrupted when I’m working on something: I just fucking KNOW I will forget something important and fuck it all up. Of course, I’ve also had to rewrite said list a few times because I kept realizing I was forgetting important things. I cannot fucking win.

But I’ll do the best I can. I can’t do anything else.

The two things I dread most about this situation are seeing what they actually pay me for the car and then paying to mail a bunch of packages. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH

But I hit the deadline in time for the $2000 quote. I don’t TRUST it, I’m sure they’ll find some fucking reason to drop the offer by about eight hundred fucking bucks, but I think I could even get by on $1200 okay for the next few months if I play my cards right. I’d just rather not have to. I think that if I get paid somewhere between $2000 and $1500, I’ll be okay for a while. If I get the $2000, for sure I will get a bicycle on the other end and then I’ll REALLY be doing well. It can be a Walmart bicycle (yep, they have Walmart in Crescent City). I’m not picky.

I’m not looking forward to paying for the packages, but carrying them in is going to be even less fun. What I might do is just take in two or three at a time to give other people a chance to go through the line. If there is no one else in the line, it won’t matter. If there are people, it’s a win-win situation. Carrie might even be okay if she can sit in her SUV in the air conditioning playing her phone games. I miss having a countertop scale and a printer at home, though. Those may be things I spend money on when I’m earning. Having it ready to go is a huge help when you have a lot to send.

I still haven’t told Dad. I think I have already gone over why I am not telling Dad and even if I haven’t, I’m not in the fucking mood right now. I haven’t been sleeping well. It isn’t even that I feel bad about leaving here; that emotion is more like smoldering aggravation that my one option up til now to not wind up sleeping in my car through an Ohio summer was to move in with a guy who’s a dickhead when he’s drunk and not much better sober. And everyone applauding me for being there for him. The only reason y’all were so damn happy is it didn’t have to be you anymore. There is every chance you know him better than I do. Do you not feel any obligation to look after your neighbors, despite a very clear standard in the Bible that that is exactly what you should be doing? Whyever the fuck not? I mean, I don’t follow the Bible, but most people around here claim to. I’m still waiting for the fucking evidence from like 99 percent of them.

Well, I have some bad news for you. It does have to be you again. Good luck with that.

And, real talk, I know y’all WERE there for him. Maybe not always as often as he needed, I guess, but enough to keep him alive. And thank you for that. But how about not acting like “WHEW I GET TO UNLOAD THIS INCREDIBLE BURDEN ON YOU NOW”bruh, your “incredible burden” involves you walking into his house every once in a while. You haven’t had to put up with his mood changes and irrationality. And drinking. Did I mention the drinking. Y’all had the option of refusing to visit him if you knew he was drinking. Me, I had nowhere else to go.

Until now.

Oops.

I’m not sure whether he’s guessed, though. He hasn’t said as much, but a little while ago he gave me a used prescription bottle full of quarters. Did you know that the normal-sized prescription bottles are just big enough to house ten dollars’ worth of quarters? He was telling me that the other day. The way he gave the bottle to me this evening was weird. He was watching TV, then he got up and shuffled to his room, then next thing I know I’m $10 richer, then he went back to watching TV. Like… does he know? Because ten dollars’ worth of quarters is indeed a useful thing to have when you are traveling by bus. Vending machines, y’know. Even if he thought I would be driving, the same is true of rest areas on the Interstate. I dunno. I have given up trying to figure him out. I am not sure it is actually possible.

I should say, it was more like $9.80 richer. He accidentally put a nickel in with the quarters in the bottle. No skin off my nose. I have several quarters of my own, so I swapped it out. He was definitely right about the ten-dollar capacity, though. That’s cool. Lots easier to handle than a paper roll around a stack of quarters.

Speaking of coins. I really need to see if I can find a Coinstar around here. I hate them because you have to pay a fee, but in a pinch they are highly useful. Unfortunately, I don’t think the Jennings Walmart has one anymore. I wonder if the money services people have a similar machine behind the counter and would be willing to use it for me? It benefits them too. If I even remember, I’ll try to ask. My penny collection has gotten the fuck out of control and that’s just extra weight to carry.

Revising a bit what I said yesterday:

1. Yes, I’ll be leaving some things here after all. Pretty much innocuous. I didn’t want to, but I’m already tired of lugging things around. I’m leaving the document shredder, the purple photo and document boxes I kept pics and memorabilia in (moving the boxes to California is out of the fucking question — I was a more efficient packer tucking their former contents in with other things, and here’s hoping I don’t ruin any photos), and maybe a couple other things. It won’t be like last time, at least.

2. I may get to the end of the gift card balances before I’m done with my last Walmart errand here. I need some kind of rolling luggage with a handle on it, and I need a wallet. I have now shitcanned the purse I got here two and a half years ago because it is fucked, quite frankly, and I also do not feel like juggling three bags when I could just have the two, and only one of those to deal with during the actual trip. My wallet (it was closer to a pocketbook, I guess, in size?) was fucked too. My luck it would have fallen apart or something and anyway, it wouldn’t have fit in my pocket, not even the ones on those cargo pants.

The backpack Matt gave me is fine for a carryon. I’ll double-check the Greyhound site to make sure, but I don’t see why not. Bonus, it has water-bottle pockets. One on each side. I will also stash my laptop and my iPad in there (don’t get excited; I bought it four years ago and it’s one of the original Airs) so I can keep an eye on them.

The funny thing about the purse is that I cleaned it out before I tossed it, and… there was thirty dollars in my fucking purse. Not in the wallet. In the PURSE. In one of the two main compartments. A twenty and two fives. I have no idea how it got there. So I had forty-three in bills (more in change), and then found thirty, so now I have seventy-three. WEIRD. The most likely explanation is I already had that thirty and then forgot it was there. If Dad is being the Money Fairy now, I have no idea why. My bet’s on “no.” Me forgetting things and him being vague are not a good combination. A couple times I’ve jumped right to the conclusion that he stole something, only to discover I’m just a fucking fanny. I’ve been right about him taking something of mine one time. Just once. Found it right where I expected it to be, too. It was absent-mindedness, not larceny. So if I’m usually wrong about him when it comes to things disappearing, I can’t automatically assume he is making things appear.

Ugh. Let me pack the last of the Goodwill shit in that last box and then crash. I really should get things out to the car because he’s in bed now but, real talk, I am not down for any more tree-roach encounters. I will have a bit left to do in the morning, so if he’s up then and I have to wait for him to nap, I’ll have something to occupy my time. That is not a bad thing. Ni ni.