Crying

I’m writing this at 9:35pm CST on Wednesday night. Day 3.

I had to check the calendar to tell you what day it was.

Time stands still here. And at the same time, is flying by – with little to no progress to mark it with.

I’m drained. Emotionally and physically.

I’m defeated. I came here to help. To fix. To prop up and support.

And the rubble is unmoved. The piles just as high and unorganized as they were Sunday night. The donations are coming in – clothes, toothpaste, toilet paper. But we have no place to put them. The back of a van is stuffed with blankets and hand me downs as we try to ignore that we don’t pick up pots and pans because… well… why?

I can’t find them a place to live. Every call I make is a dead end.

I know you want to help. Oh, how I know.

I just have no idea how. Not yet. Will you still want to help in a week? If we’ve found a home to fill? Will you still be interested in the stories and the pictures when my brain is sorted out enough to tell them?

I’m lost. I’m so terribly fucking lost.

And tired. Bone. Tired.

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