On Not Writing

number 007

Last week I tried, desperately, to get some words out about what has transpired in Texas. Even in writing this week’s newsletter, I knew where it was going to go and I didn’t want to go there.

I wrote an entire newsletter out, and then on Thursday, instead of sending it, I volunteered with some friends to get coffee to some hospitals that didn’t have running water. By the time I got back to my computer the next day to edit and then have my editor (my husband, Tucker) look over the draft, I realized the newsletter I’d drafted was rife with errors. 

Here’s one of the only salvageable parts of what I wrote:

The sun is setting on the second day of the worst snowstorm Austin–and most of the rest of Texas–has seen since the ’60s. Thanks to privatized energy that cuts corners to maximize profit, almost half of the people who live in this city are without electricity. Tucker and I, thankfully, still have power. The internet just flashed on for a second, and as long as it’s on, I’m going to try and write. I know I need to get some words on the page after what have undoubtedly been the weirdest and most bewildering few days of the weirdest and most bewildering year of my life.

As I look back on it now, there’s so much that I couldn’t bring myself to say about last week, like the fact that we had power but were terrified every second that it would shut off. Or the fact that we had friends completely stranded and stuck in their homes without heat or power just a few miles away, and they couldn’t get to us because of the road conditions. Or that so many lives were lost—to the cold and starvation, to medical equipment being inadequately powered, and to fires they set to try and keep warm. 

This shouldn’t have happened. 

The people we lost should still be here. 

The government’s job is to take care of its people: all of its people.

It’s criminal not to prioritize housing the unhoused. 

It’s criminal to prioritize making money over keeping people warm. 

It’s criminal to fly to Cancun and leave your constituents behind, freezing to death in their houses. 

I couldn’t hit publish last week because it was too fresh of a wound. Even now, it feels tender. There are still many people without access to food or water. Everyone here endured a significant trauma last week. It’s going to take months to heal for some, years for others. More than likely, we will all carry some of this experience far into the rest of our lives. 

Yesterday, while listening to a podcast and driving around town, I felt this swirl in my chest. It’s almost like butterflies; it comes up from my heart and spans shoulder to shoulder. The world in front of me felt brighter, and I decided to get tacos. That feeling was my dissociative spell breaking. I didn’t know it was happening at the time, because I was in go mode all last week. Filling water containers with the drips from our sink, winterizing one room of our house so if we needed to shelter with no power, we could keep it warm, texting friends to make sure they were okay, calling family members to assure them we were fine, but it was serious. Then repeating the process the next day. Looking back on it, of course, my brain decided to detach from my body. 

Today I am in my body again, present with my feelings, and everything hurts. I feel bruised to my core, and I feel intense sadness for repeatedly having to watch people die because an institution sworn to protect them, did the opposite. 

I guess what I’m trying to say is that today, I am happy to be sad. I’m happy to be feeling it, instead of not feeling it, because my only way through this part is through feeling it. Through grieving those we lost last week, through healing the parts of me that this scarred, through telling the story of what happened in Texas. 

And now, I am asking for your help. 

Please take some time to check your wallet and give some money to Austin Mutual Aid or any other mutual aid organization in Texas.

Our government did not help us, our mayor did not help us, but mutual aid organizations showed up and got it done. 

If you are in Texas, I commend you for making it through. If you have some time this week, please sign up to volunteer at an emergency supply pickup point. They are all in need of supplies and of people to load those supplies into vehicles. 

If you know of someone, specifically at companies that can provide prepared meals and menstrual products (Note: in a previous edition I used the term ‘feminine hygiene products’ when I meant to say menstrual products. Any gender can menstruate, and my language did not reflect that. I apologize for this mistake.) to our community please reach out. The need for those things is great, I know.

Help where you can. Heal where you can. Give where you can. 

Reading: The Blurry Years by Eleanor Kriseman, which I highly recommend; and Sick In The Head by Judd Apatow, which needs an updated version to remove all sexual predators from its pages. 

Writing: About survival and the job of the government. Also about personal style and activewear. I am a complex creature. 

Listening: To a lot of Lauren Hill, and to this episode of Meditative Story that put me back in my body yesterday. 

Watching: Seinfeld. Am I actually Elaine Benes? Who’s to say.

Buying: This SNL T-shirt as a reward to myself for cleaning our house, because I’m now on a sticker-based rewards system for accomplishing tasks.  

Focusing on: Trying out painting. Making myself relax. Waiting on the weather to warm up again.

ALSO: Let’s hang out! It seems we are all very lonely and a little lost right now, maybe even more so than when I decided to do this. I am planning a digital happy hour for anyone that wants to stop by tomorrow on the 26th of February at 3pm. It will be a zoom meeting. There will be snacks (if you have them at your house). It will be fun. If you want to attend, fill out this form! I’ll see you tomorrow!

OMG WOW! You’ve made it this far! Thank you for supporting me by subscribing to this newsletter and sharing it with your friends. It means the world to me that you’d continue to invite me into your internet living room. 

Let’s say for a second that you like what you see here and want to continue the support. In that case, you can do one or more of the following:

• Forward this email to a few friends who would dig it.

• Buy me a coffee.

• Follow me on Instagram and share my work there.

• Follow the publication I co-founded with the imitable Beth Hitchcock.

• Hire me to write for your publication!

See you next Thursday!