It's Friday again, and my grandmother might be dead by March. March! I find it extremely unfair that she, my mother's mother, my favorite relative, should suffer while that bitch, my namesake, lives on. Life is unfair. Incredibly so. I am not worried yet, just angry. Furious. Aside from that, the plan stands. Chinatown. Here. Jenny's. Bethany Beach. Bonfire. As a non-native, I feel I have been robbed of the experiences of Beach Week. I am planning to have my own, compressing a week of drunkenness, fire, blazing, cigarettes, and destruction into a single evening. The rain is comforting. It makes me think of you. I wish you would talk to me more. However, maybe I am one to talk. Maybe I should be doing the same. I have found that I bitch, truly flip shit, so infrequently that no one knows how to handle it. Just let me yell! Tell me I'm right, because I sure as hell know I am if I am vocalizing it. Carrie was the last one to hear out my frustration. Instead of actually listening to me, though, she lectured me on how I should get as far away from that emergency room as possible. What was I thinking bringing a drunk, underage girl to the ER? Claire? What was I thinking, indeed?