 Floundering |
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Right now I am not sure what is going on. I have not watched or listened to the news today. Today we went shopping for things that people need but do not have such as underwear. How do you start? How do you know what to buy when you have nothing? Hopefully back at home there is not nothing, hopefully there is still something. But they just do not know. And that is so hard. My friend whose house was chopped in half by a tree in 1992 by Andrew and her mother came over with giant bowls of spaghetti and drinks and apples and nectarines and bread and salad. Right now I've got three people staying in my house who are patiently tolerating my two dogs and two cats and two more people will arrive tomorrow. Somehow we will all fit. There are places to sleep and snacks and clean water to drink and bathe in and clothes to wear and there is now underwear. So I think they will be okay here, at least for now. For as long as they need to be here, they are welcome. What else can you do when you are lucky enough to still have a house that is standing? Or at least that you know is standing? Because can you imagine? Not knowing? How that must feel? What that must be like? I cannot. I cannot even imagine how they are still walking and talking and being amazing. This morning we took the dogs on a walk to try and relieve some of their cabin fever and I was looking down on my feet on the sidewalk and thinking, look, there are my feet, and there is the sidewalk and it is dry and I am walking on it. I am not chest-deep in dirty water. There is not a body floating by. We are not on a rooftop waiting to be rescued. We are not using axes to break through the roof from the attic so we will not drown. We are not in the disgusting broken Superdome. We are not on a bus riding to Houston. It is terrible and terrifying but we are alive and we are as comfortable as we can possibly be. But my heart is broken for these people and especially for the man I love. I can buy him ginger ale and lemon lime gatorade and raisinettes but what is that really. I can't give him all that he fears might be lost. I can't help the hundreds of thousands of other people who have lost so much. Today I saw a photo of a woman weeping beside the covered body of her husband. He had lung cancer and they ran out of oxygen so he died. So many people have nowhere to go. How will they get paid? What about their jobs? What about? What about? So many questions. I wish I could turn back time and make this all have not happened. I want to wish it all away. Thank you all for your kind wishes and thoughts and prayers. I want to respond to each of them but don't want to monopolize my computer for that long right now when there are people here who need to use it. I feel like friends and relatives are frustrated with me for not being in better touch, but maybe 1 out 10 phone calls goes through and like I said I have not wanted to hog the computer. I will probably be updating more frequently through the notify list than through actual posted entries. Tomorrow I go back to work and will write a speech and help with the efforts on behalf of evacuees from our organization who are here and need help. There's a tree sitting on my roof and on top of my fence but I am paralyzed to get anything done about it because I feel like who am I to worry about my fucking tree that broke part of my roof but not really. I can't just worry about my stupid tree and my stupid nondamaged house. I just do not know what to do. I keep washing towels and wiping down countertops and lighting candles that smell like lemons and vacuuming up the pet hair but I don't know what else I can do. I think I will bake some brownies but all of the stores are out of eggs or threw theirs out when they lost power. But brownies. I mean, if nothing else, there can always be brownies. I will call my neighbor to see if she has some eggs. I'm sure if she does she will give them to me. We are all just helping each other however we can. We are trying to be kind. If there is any good to be pulled from this ugliness, there is that.
© Copyright 2005 elb |
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