The Power to Write

I don’t need a lot of material goods to be a writer. I don’t need a printing press. I have a printer, but I can work digitally only. With current technology I do not even need a desktop computer that can allow me to edit and proofread my writing.

I vastly prefer a computer and ability to print before posting. But I do not need it.

I can type things on Medium so long as I have internet.

I can type on my Keep app so long as I have battery on my phone.

I can handwrite on my notebook so long as I have light.

And a pen.

And a paper.

I do not, in all actuality, need my power to be on in my house for me to be able to write daily. I could hypothetically hide myself in a cabin in the woods like a modern day Henry David Thorough and not emerge until I have written something spectacularly precise. I don’t need to go to a coffee shop or bar to write every day. If it’s just me and the power goes out, I can cope.

but it’s not just me.

When we heard that a snowstorm was hitting our city, our plan was simple. Hunker down in our heated home and wait. Snow storms in the Northwest aren’t usually that bad, it’s the Northwestern drivers and amazingly bad road maintenance that makes snow storms memorable here.

Last year when we unexpectedly had a few feet of snow, my husband stopped to pick me up from my college and we headed home. Our 15 minute drive from the school to our rental turned into a 2 hour harrowing experience on the highway with downed trees and abandoned cars in all 4 lanes making the snowy road an obstacle course.

The best course of action here is to hunker down in your house. Make food and hot chocolate. Do a cuddle party under the blankets.

So when the power got knocked out at ten in the morning on Saturday January 13th, we thought that was the best course of action. We hid in the bedroom with our cat cuddling on top of the blanket for warmth. The power company said the power would be repaired by 2 pm.

2 pm came and went.

The wind blew the snow against the side of our building in an onslaught that perpetually changed directions. We could not watch the beautiful white swirls of snow through our single pane windows without allowing more heat to escape.

Our curtains or blinds didn’t give a lot of protection, but their absence made the cold intense.

The snowstorm got more vicious.

We heard thunder crack high in the sky. I could not remember the last snowstorm that had lightning. Maybe that ice storm back in 98?

We lost internet signal and mobile data. We couldn’t call people, but texts seemed to squeeze through to people in other warm lands who weren’t experiencing the disaster.

Our heat is powered by gas, but it would not function without electricity. We’ve known our windows and walls are insulated terribly from previous 100° F summers. It’s a rental. We don’t have the authority to replace the windows. When it was 17° F outside not counting the excessive wind chill we found we were losing 5–10° each hour.

By 7 o’clock we were desperate and decided to risk the roads to drive to a family member who still had power. As we drove, we saw other struggling neighbors with totes, baggage, and flashlights seeking shelter or power on foot. The family member warned us he had no spare bed. We packed our sleeping bags, emergency road materials, and wrangled our cat. Seriously, the interior of our house got so cold that his generosity might have saved our lives.

My disaster relief friends started contacting me asking if I could volunteer in the warming shelters once I had internet signal again. I had to explain that I’d been displaced myself.

Also, deep in the IVF process, I was not physically capable of volunteering in the same capacity they needed. I had to do the last two of my hormone injections at the family member’s house. My egg retrieval was scheduled for the following Monday. I found myself with my belly swollen and body uncomfortable in a house that had plenty of heat, but no furniture. I’m grateful for the help, but with my minor surgery of egg extraction Monday, I knew staying somewhere the only seat was a cooler wasn’t an option. I was already struggling getting up from the floor. Hell, even when I had a couch it was hard to find a comfortable way to lay.

That Monday the power company told us our power was restored. We drove to check, leaving our cat in the safety of the heat. Our front sink was cold enough the pan we had our faucet drip into was full of ice.

We went to our appointments. I will definitely be writing about the IVF process as a separate article. We showed up an hour and a half early for our appointment on Martin Luther King day. We found the only people in the hospital seemed to be patients getting IVF egg extractions and the fertility team.

We decided to check our house one last time before we either spent money on a hotel or drove multiple hours to another relative.

After our appointment, the water drip that we turned up had formed an icicle stalagmite inside our house. We figured out another safe place to go for my recovery.

I know there are things we could do to further insulate our windows. We have plastic wrap insulation taped to them. I should have put up blankets or sheets on the wall. However, I don’t think any of the many tips, tricks, and tools that other disaster relief gurus were messaging us that we should have invested in could have winterized that rental. Even if we had the money to invest in a generator, propane or kerosene heater, or any number of things people who experience cold weather and power outages regularly could have invested in. I’m poor. My husband and I are poor.

The only reason we can afford IVF is because my last career injured me in such a way it impacted my fertility. They are paying for it. The hormones (and docs orders) had been reducing what I was allowed to do all month. Now in an emergency where my disaster relief training and experiences could have been useful I found myself struggling to stand and walk long enough to help. I’m only starting to feel back to normal on the end of the week.

We decided to swallow our pride and go to my parents' condo a few hours North.

It was probably the least stressful interaction with my parents I have had since they sold the house I had planned to eventually buy. I spent a long time talking to my Mom about future plans and my writing.

My IVF retrieval was so successful, they told me my ovaries were at a high risk for overstimulation. I had to eat laxatives, electrolytes, pain meds, and limit my bread intake in a home that made sourdough breads and pancakes daily. They were very welcome and accommodating. I did a little cooking and quickly overdid it.

I could have shut myself in their guest bedroom and wrote.

It probably would have been safer. Leaning against the couch trying to sing songs as the my Mom played the piano is usually a pretty low risk activity. I hadn’t realized until I tried to breath deeply to sing that my stomach couldn’t expand anymore to clear space for that. I should have sequestered myself, sat, and wrote during my downtime.

But I didn’t.

I stewed on the projects I have planned on writing. However I couldn’t stomach writing smut under my parent’s roof. Although most of my Little Red Journal was written under their house, initially, it’s different as an adult.

When we finally confirmed the power was back on, we drove home. My husband called out from work one final day to recover after everything. He emptied out the fridge of perishables and ordered groceries.

Our cat was very happy to be home and kept running away afraid we’d put her in a carrier again.

When I was safe back in my bed with the power on, I pigeon-typed my book review of Dostoevsky’s Notes from the Underground (from my perspective as a sexual content creator) on my phone. We slept with our cat purring next to my bloated stomach in our own bed.

…

And then the power went out again.

I typed the first half of this story on my phone in the dark this morning. I had to alternate between Keep and Medium as my mobile data kept flickering out on Medium.

The power company informed us they were aware of the outage and 2000+ other connected were reported. This time, they gave us no estimate on when the power would be back on. My husband chose “not to abandon” me with the power out, even though he is really getting a much smaller paycheck already and we had more expenses than usual.

I don’t need a lot for my self employment on Medium and Onlyfans. I really don’t. I don’t earn a lot, but I could hypothetically work anywhere.

But I need to know my cat’s not going to freeze to death as I go to the library to use their internet and heat.

I need to know my husband is not going to have a panic attack because he can’t protect his wife who, based on the symptoms I have been talking to the doctor about, probably has a moderate case of OHSS (Ovarian Hyper Stimulation Syndrome). I’ve toned down my symptoms to him today, because I see how on edge he is.

If my body is in fight or flight because I do not feel like my family is safe in my home, then I don’t have the power to write.

I need a capacitor to have the capacity to complete the electrical circuits in my brain. Not sure if that metaphor quite works, it’s been a long time since my electrical engineering courses. Maybe in Earth 2 there’s a version of me working for the public utility to restore the power.

The electricity came on as I was writing this.

Hopefully, it stays on so I can edit and submit this.

Hopefully, this time next year I will live in a place with infrastructure and insulation that makes my family warm enough to weather the storm.

Hopefully I’ll earn enough through my writing that when my husband can’t get to work safely, I have the wattage, the joules, to support our family for that interim. Until then, I will keep writing on my desktop, laptop, phone, or notebook what I have the power to convey.

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