i’m tired and i think i’m catching a cold. whatever. i’ve almost caught a cold three times since september. every time i’ve felt it come on, I’ve been like ‘ no, i have no time to get sick’ and so i fight it. they’ve all gone away. maybe the colds are just dormant and are waiting for me to say ‘fuck it’ instead.
i’ve got no right to complain about anything, not ever but especially not lately. it feels strange to talk about this hurricane as if i knew something about what being affected by it is really like. i didn’t lose my life or any family members and the family home is still intact. sure, i didn’t have power for a week and the neighborhood went a little crazy and it was cold or whatever, all the other andsss. i have no right to talk about this hurricane but fuck man, it’s all over us.
i got power back this weekend and volunteered today. not that i feel any lofty aspirations towards being some do-gooder walking around talking about their enlightening Americorps experience or blah blah look at all the good i do type of person. no man, i sat up this morning in my soft warm fucking bed and was like ‘ if i sit in this house and play online and watch football because i’ve got my power back then i’m just a big fucking asshole’. i couldn’t sit with it. like what the fuck? why should i just sit here? because i can? i don’t have kids. i had two friends willing to drive and down to volunteer with me. i’m able-bodied and young-ish. this is what we’re supposed to do if we can and i can and i’m not drunk. also there are paramedics, cops and firefighters who’ve been busting their asses since day one of sandy. i’m a weekend warrior. we do what we can.
this is already a terrible post. this is already one of those post-tragedy posts that’s been written a million times and feels insincere.
lauren tells me i feel things too much. i wonder what it would be like to not. this one moment isn’t gonna turn me into someone who commits their life to changing the rockaways. i’m not that good of a person. i’m a lazy daydreamer but but but but, right now there’s no excuse not to do something. if you can spare the gas or the time, staten island and the far rockaways and the jersey shore need help. most of us can’t spare anything right now. people need food. babies need diapers and blankets. they need arms and legs to move boxes of water and baked beans and tylenol to other locations, to other arms and into stomachs, into bodies.
but you know this, i know you know this and so many of the people i know & love do this type of work all the time. not just when tragedy strikes, you know like one of those C.P.E. christians where church only exists on christmas, palm sunday and easter. that’s me but there’s room for that too. oh and so many of my people have opened their homes up to families and friends in need. marcy put me up friday nite and my cousin’s john & aida have been giving me and my family a place to shower and eat dinner. everyone i know needs something whether it’s power, food, or a damn good shoulder massage.
also, i’d want someone to help me. when i didn’t have my needs, i couldn’t help anyone. i had to turn away. my parents are getting older. the neighborhood is getting worse. the fear of the block going crazy turned into gunshots, not that they’re new or specific to the hurricane but it’s different to hear them when the neighborhood is pitch black. i worried all week. would we get robbed? would a gas riot break out? wtf? panic attack. then the power came back for us and so now my needs are being met. i have to pass it on. besides, i still have my home and food which is the world.
i’ve been thinking about love. maybe it’s time to order another copy of bell hooks communion: the female search for love. stop. that book is not on some glamour magazine top ten ways to please your man bullshit. that book is a serious deconstruction of the way love has been pre-formatted and sold by people who don’t know love. ok, it’s a little Oprah-y sometimes and super hetero but it’s bell fucking hooks and if she wants to just tell me to love myself, i’m gonna read that shit. i’ve been asking people about love lately and i don’t think anyone knows what the fuck they’re talking about ever. no one i know knows shit about love. is this a new yorker thing? like we know how to link up and have orgasms but what is going on with not being able to love someone else in a semi-healthy way? — wait, i just puked up some carrie inner monologue. but the nerd in me feels like love is worth studying, from a distance with a fancy magnifying glass and a mustache.
why do all the most fucked up things seem to happen during election years?
also, i miss my brother princess. i miss so many people.
far rockaway relief efforts at YANA community center: