Here we are. It’s been over a week in the apartment. It’s slowly filling up with furniture and home goods people generously parted with. It’s incredible what people will do for you if only you ask. It’s incredible how kind people are. In Trump’s America, I’ve learned a lot about kindness. About goodness. About my neighbors and my community. Didn’t see that one coming. So I guess I’ll thank you for that, oversized Cheeto diarrhea in a man suit president-elect.
Here we are. It’s been over a week in the apartment. Each night, I go to bed on my own, in my own place, happy as clam as the expression goes (assuming clams are incredibly happy each night they sleep do they sleep at night?). I cannot explain to you how it feels, how good and right it feels to fall asleep in my apartment each night. I cannot explain to you how I dream. I cannot explain to you how I wake up in the same spot each morning, just a touch of sunlight from the weird windows behind my bed. I cannot explain this to you, and I do not need to. I’d only like you to know.
Here we are. It’s been over a week in the apartment. I take the bus every day. Mostly, people keep to themselves. Everyone is friendly. Some are too friendly. A man called me a bitch when I refused to speak to him instead of my mother, who I had on the phone. I’m learning about safety, and public spaces. To participate in humanity, you must be patient and kind, but you do not have to be borderless. You have the boundaries of your body. Enforce them.
Here we are. It’s been over a week in the apartment. I dumped condensation from my window A/C unit all over my bed as I tried to remove it Thursday night. It was poorly installed, and allowed cold air to draft in. So I took it out myself. I took the sheets off my bed, put the A/C unit on the floor, cleaned up the water, and went to bed with a big red mark from my sternum to my pubic bone from the unit dropping on me. I slept very well.
Here we are. It’s been over a week in the apartment. I’d like to tell you more, but I’m not certain what it is, or how it will seem to you.
I’d like you to know I think of you often.
I’d like you to know I’m doing well.
I’d like you to know that even if things aren’t great, they are good. They are good because they must be. They are good because when they are bad, and badness knows no bottom, knows no end, you will have a chest-expanding moment of joy. You will get that moment. You have to stay open and scared and sometimes stupid, but the good will come. I will live in poverty of pocket, but I will not live in poverty of spirit. So I trust the good will come. I am lucky. I understand if you do not trust it. I am lucky.
That’s all for now. It isn’t much. But it’s enough. December 11th is a strange day. Sort of unremarkable in its way.
I love you. I miss you. I hope to see you soon.