The Silence Says It All

I have been too worn out to blog. That's why I've been so quiet.

I don't want to be melodramatic, but when you are new in New Orleans, or old in New Orleans, you get tired.

I am tired. I am tired of transition. Transition to a new house in a new neighborhood, new schools, a new church, a new medical internship, and two parents working full time and then some. It is exhausting to be here.

But you don't have to been new to feel this way. While I was waiting in a long line at Walmart tonight, I had to break in to my honey roasted peanuts in order to avoid collapse. I offered some to the people behind me, a woman and her son, who looked as depleted as I felt. They refused to reach in and grab a handful, but allowed me to shake some into their open palms. We got to talking. They were here before the storm. She's sure that the levy breech was an intentional act against the people of the city and she's afraid it will happen again. She was at the Superdome and she was scared of the people there. She want people to come together and do right by one another. She loves her extended family here, but she's tired and she's still scared and she just may head back to San Antonio where she evacuated. She's disabled and can't work, but her son just got a job with the sanitation department. She doesn't think they will be able to live off that $600 a month. My cart was full to the brim--I was spending a huge portion of what she has to look forward to next month. She was tired and so am I.

But it’s not just the lady in the line at the Walmart when you happen to get friendly with your peanuts. It is everyone. My students, my collegues, my kid's friends and their families. Everyone is tired. Everyone has a story to tell.

The first night we got to New Orleans, while we unpacked the kitchen, Marlow asked me how I was "doing with this whole move." I told him that I was excited, exhilarated even. I also told him that I have moved enough times to know that it would hit me in the fall. And it has. I am missing my old familiar friends and getting used to my no-longer-new friends here in New Orleans. I miss familiarity. I miss a place where things run as they should. And I am tired.

So, I do what I can to get through the day without yelling at my children, getting sick, or having to quit. I cry when I need to. I vent to my husband, my family, and my friends a lot. I pray, but my prayers are worried, muddled cries for help. I get up 15 minutes late most days and run behind for the rest of the day. I work, I pick my children, we eat, we bath, we read, they sleep, I fall in front of the T.V. for a couple hours to quiet my mind and we start over.

So I haven’t been blogging, but I want to get it going on again.