#dearly beloved...

The temperatures are set to rise this week in a way that my poor (redacted identity) self is not raised to handle, so I am anticipating the upcoming heat, amongst closed borders, by going for a run before the sunrise. We’ve done the Brooklyn Mile, y’all! I hope you did too, if you could. 80% of the proceeds go to the NYC Covid-19 Relief Fund, something Jake Gyllenhaal didn’t help, because he left the city to die during the pandemic. We will make sure to drop some white roses on Hart Island after all of this is over; the shape and the absence of some of our favorite New Yorkers - all New Yorkers - is dramatic and will leave a terrible taste in our mouths and souls for years to come. The trauma of having survived this moment, as we reach a second wave, is not yet explained. I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night, in an empty bed, in a different city, wondering how my partner made it out, after recurring nightmares triggered by her scattered and labored breathing for weeks. I have yet to be able to properly pay respect to those I couldn’t be present to bury. It’s been a difficult winter. Please wear your masks and be responsible, it’s been too much already.

Now that we are about to file the necessary paperwork to incorporate as a non-profit in NYS in the wake of the Black Lives Matter protests and our need to end US exceptionalism and promote human rights access for all, I wonder if Jake Gyllenhaal would campaign and fundraise for us the way he has for the Kerry / Edwards campaign. I’m sitting on a very uncomfortable chair listening to Prince very loudly to drown the noise of construction work outside my flat; I am uncomfortable, both sweating and shivering, my body having trouble adjusting to a rigorous workout schedule and utter sleep deprivation. My fingertips trace the outline of some of my tattoos, the scarred skin raised by stress, the dryness of my mouth and the uncertainty of a future that depends on others than I. My hands are cold - but they’re always cold. I spent 3 hours on the phone comforting a friend currently in LA County, like Jake Gyllenhaal, wondering if they should ask for a firearm permit, so scared they were of white supremacists entering their home. I am strictly against civilian use of weaponry, so it took hours for them to come down. Outside my window, at 2am, I heard a detonation. I ran outside immediately to figure out where it came from. I have poor reflexes. Jake Gyllenhaal is probably sleeping.

I scroll instagram absent-mindedly, congratulating Gen Z in my head for having ruined Trump’s rally in Tulsa, OK. I find a very disturbing article on NPR and I make a mental note, then open a new file on Google Drive, to work on through my (redacted profession). I wonder how long it will be. Clicking on files and folders, I open one called “production” and check where I am on the priority list and what information I am supposed to release to the public in the coming days. I have a few, on gruesome events. I click on it, and start typing. Fortunately for me, I type very fast. I open another window, for this blog. I start needing more coffee. It is getting hot out there; I grab a fistful of my hair, that is so detested by some, tight, thick knots hair, the texture a little too dry for my taste, and roll it out into a poor man’s ponytail that would leave my neck breathe out for a bit. The hair bounces almost straight out from the rest of my head; it doesn’t flow down, seamlessly, like white straight hair does. It’s a different kind of help. I open the Amazon app to order some texture-specific coconut oil products. Unlike Jake Gyllenhaal, who spends 17 hours on Fresh Direct, I can’t find everything I need just at my finger tips.

It was Juneteenth, and I marked the occasion by watching a documentary on Nina Simone, and looked at social media to see what was being done or said. The history of slavery in the US and the Civil War passed by before my eyes; Jamie Foxx, who starred alongside Jake Gyllenhaal in Jarhead, a movie I liked, is doing the most trying to educate his 10 million+ followers in the history of Juneteenth and the struggle that we are still facing in this country. Jake Gyllenhaal doesn’t follow him, and I don’t know whether he is one of those meatheads singing “Swing Low Sweet Chariot” in British football stadiums, but I know that I am starting to feel the second wave of exhaustion hit me as the New York City Council will soon vote on its budget and mobilization must be carried away to ensure that the NYPD will leave schools. Meanwhile, the instances of voter suppression in Georgia are rolling in; Jake Gyllenhaal doesn’t mention there are primaries ongoing. After all, if he was like me, a Warren supporter, this is nothing to be excited about, but this is still a crucial moment.

I have spent way too much time on sunday, while my partner was coming down from way too much alcohol, wondering what Jake Gyllenhaal was doing. In fact, I am pretty sure I fucked up my time on the Brooklyn Mile because it was on my mind. A lot of things are on my mind and like any other person with ADHD and anxiety disorders, I can multitask on what gives me goosebumps and slight nausea. I wonder what, in general, people do, when faced with historical moments of mobilization, if there are not on the street, or if they are not speaking up. This is not one of those eras when it was difficult to be on the frontpage of a newspaper or attending a rally. This is 2020, when teenagers can ruin the ego of an authoritarian president from the comfort of their couch. This is 2020, when we are comforted by the presence of our peers, even when we social distance and wear masks. This is 2020, when we have a super computer in our pockets telling us where to go and what to do, how to engage, and where our money is best placed. Of course, it is entirely possible Jake Gyllenhaaal logged off and deliberately chose not to drown in this information.

This is privilege.

This is privilege I don’t have. I keep wondering what it’s like to have it. We don’t even have Pride this weekend, and I’m so grateful for organizers still managing online events.

I want so hard to find not just allies, but accomplices in those battles, that when one decides to drop out of the race for civil and human rights, the disappointment is completely disproportionate. Or is it?