my therapist told me to start a blog

My therapist told me to start a blog, so here we are. 

I took my therapy appointment from my car last week. I'm not good at waking up in the morning, so I downloaded this new alarm clock app that won't shut the f*** up unless I stand up and take 40 steps and take a photo of my coffee maker. And at that  point, I might as well brew the coffee, and then I'm up. Except I still only got out of bed ten minutes before my therapy appointment, but I still made El Salvadorian coffee in my shitty 5 cup coffee pot that cost my mom $12. I didn't bother to brush my hair or my teeth, just grabbed my headphones and ran out to my car. Didi always called at 9:57, and I routinely ended the call and returned it at precisely 10:01 am, when I'd finally settled my coffee and myself into Franklin, the 2012 Chevy Sonic gifted to me by my older sister last summer when I moved to LA for six months. Didi, bless her grandmother-aged heart, answered the FaceTime call at an angle where I could only see her eyebrows as they raised, smiled, and laughed as she greeted yet another one of her car-therapy clients. She half-jokingly offered to start group car therapy in a parking lot somewhere in Dallas, and I concluded that isn't a car where many of us are most intimate with ourselves? 

My car and I have been through everything together, and he is absolutely my sanctuary. Franklin drove me from Dallas to Los Angeles last June on my 23rd birthday, and he drove me back home to Dallas last December after I realized that moving to Los Angeles was the worst mistake I'd ever made in my life. And trust me, I have made a lot of mistakes. I'll write about them sometime. 

Right now, my trunk holds my life. And by my life, I  mean my clothes, my coffee mugs, a Joan Didion novel I haven't read yet, and a tennis racket my dad gave me in 2006. But the point is that Franklin is my sanctuary, and I spend a lot of time in here, and I store a lot of things in here since I only halfway live with my boyfriend right now, and so yes, I take therapy in here, because I'm comfortable in here, even though right now it kind of smells like hot, rotten whole milk that seeped into my seats after a grocery trip for my mom last week.  

Didi asks me how things are going with my mom and my younger siblings, and she asks me how things are going with my boyfriend, and if he is nice to me and does things I want to do sometimes. And I tell her about how he treats me like a princess and I am happy. And she asks me how the job search is going, and I tell her I have a second interview for a position I am really elated about, and she cheers me on and asks me how many places I've applied to since the first interview with this company. I answered zero and noticed Didi's eyebrows frown. 

I don't utilize my free time well. I get overwhelmed with all the ways I should be spending my time in one day, and there's just not enough. So I do none of it. And Didi told me we can't do it all at once anyway. And zoning out and just watching reality TV is okay. But she told me that I needed to pick one thing I like to do and just spend time on it, and it should be the one I'm best at, and I told her that was writing. So Didi, my therapist, told me to start a blog, so here I am.