Last night I slept in my car

Last night I slept in my car near a lake called Mary's Lake. Mary Magdalene? Maybe. She led me there in one sharp off road turn with a gravel lot that read "No Car Camping," but for some reason I knew I could. For some reason I trusted in my safety. And now that's not to say that I felt this safety the whole night. I wrestled in the back of my car with myself and the poorly inflated sleeping pad all night. Leaving the backseat to pee a total of seven times: once at 11:30, shortly after dozing off. Unfortunate, I know. Why does my bladder do this to me? I wonder. The puddles outside my car and the bottoms of my sweatpants wonder the same thing. Tossing and turning in between squatting. Squatting within a forbidden lot. The first hour I spent scoping the area. Getting a feel, seeing if anyone would notice I was there... hyperaware.

The whole night was a fever dream, maybe the worst sleep I have ever slept. So I write this slightly deprived and kind of joyous for the experience. You see, that is probably one of the first times I've seen the stars untouched by city lights. I mean really looked at them. I sat atop my car half in, half out the sunroof with the pillow I made at a friend's birthday party in fourth-grade and gave them the attention they needed. Breathwork practices used to calm my nerves in a vulnerable state. Fears that I most certainly faced. Maybe next time it'll be a tent, maybe never again. Now I give my soft bed a better evaluation, a more fair appreciation. To see how the sunrise in an unfamiliar place compares to waking up routinely in my home space