tiny splash in an ocean of orange

i thought i would save my thoughts for a time when i was more rested and less confused, but at this point, that may never happen. lars, your blog entry inspired me to just write and get the thoughts and ideas outside of myself.

here's what happened: 

friday, march 29th:  my uncle glenn died suddenly and unexpectedly. he was gay, and like so many families, my family refused to acknowledge this. uncle glenn spent years in what conservative assholes call "reparative therapy," where they try to "cure you of your illness." fifty years later, uncle glenn reconciled his faith and his sexuality and embraced who he believed god made him to be. i'm so proud, and so happy they he and his partner george found and loved each other. however, glenn didn't receive that unconditional love and acceptance from everyone in my family.

saturday, may 4th: my last day as a clinic assistant in the abortion surgical hall at planned parenthood. 

monday, june 17th: dolly eats grapes. grapes can be highly toxic for puppies, and we take every precaution to avoid potential kidney failure. this means two nights in the hospital and over $1000 in medical fees. 

tuesday, june 18th: i join my fellow activists in 50's "mad (wo)man" attire in the texas senate gallery, where i witness the senate vote in favor of sb5. 

wednesday, june 19th: my mother tells me she is coming to my wedding in august. the wedding has been planned for over a year, but as of a few weeks ago, i thought no one from my family would be attending. now, somehow, they all are. if you know me, and you know them, this is beyond shocking. most of my family doesn't support my sexuality or my relationship with leslie. they have made that very clear. i think this change of heart has a lot to do with my uncle glenn. as it is in so many stories, it can take tragedy to put things into perspective. i don't know any more than you do what happens when we die, but if there is any fairness and compassion in the universe, i hope that glenn could hear me talking to my father on the phone last week. 

my family and i still have a long, long way to go. this doesn't mean that everything is better, but can i take a minute to cry and appreciate what a huge deal this is? 

thursday, june 20th: i join over 700 other citizens at a house committee hearing. we are there for a "people's filibuster." after being there for 15 hours, over 300 people are cut off from testimony. 

at almost 4am, i am the last of 4 people in line. the clerk tells me and the person in front of me that we won't be able to speak. we protest, she negotiates with a representative, and returns, saying, "ok, if you are registered, you can speak." our turn comes and chairman cook says that the testimonies are over. he calls representative laubenberg (author of the bill, now famous for her "rape kits are abortions" line) forward to close the bill.

it is my great pleasure to say that i now personally interrupt representative laubenberg as soon as she steps up to the podium. 

"NO! no, it's our turn to speak. we were told we would speak." 

laubenberg sits down. and the people speak. 10 hours and a million drafts after writing my original script, i can hardly remember what i actually end up saying. i only remember feeling like i'm on fire, and i remember looking into as many representative eyeballs as i can. 

meanwhile, three more people line up behind me. i read the last testimony on record before the microphones are turned off, the republican representatives flee, and the last three standing continue to tell their stories to the room "off the record." 

i go to sleep at 6:30am on the morning of june 21st. i am proud. i am exhausted. i am worried. 

sunday, june 23rd: i can't tear myself away from the livesteam of the house debate long enough to travel to the capitol. i am glued to the screen. plus, from my home i can follow along on twitter, disregard "decorum", and drink beer. representative jessica farrar kicks ass, representative senfronia thompson holds up a coat hanger, and representative jodie laubenberg makes a fool of herself. i watched until my lil' sleep-deprived eyes close, but my body wakes me up at 3:30am. i know something isn't right. i creep out into my dark living room and turn on my laptop. the vote has just ended. the bill will move on. 

tuesday, june 25th: SCOTUS votes to remove section 5 from the voting rights act. texas is already plotting how to reduce voting access with new id requirements and bullshit redistricting. 

you all know what happens in the texas capitol today. i've been to lots of protests, i've been arrested, i've fought hard....but i've never felt anything like this. i go with my fellow full-spectrum doulas, and after standing in a line that wraps around and around the capitol rotunda, we make it into the gallery. instead of the echoing chatter and laughter of the rotunda, the gallery iss quiet except for the strong, steady, angelic voice of senator wendy davis. at this point, she has already been speaking for 8.5 hours. it's tense. when the republicans (unfairly) stop the filibuster, the tension escalates a million percent. i watch with 500 people bitingnailsholdinghandscompulsivelycheckingtimeedgeofseattappingfeetwatchingthoughfingerslikeascarymovie. they stop letting people into the room. if we leave, there will be no witnesses. 

time. crawls. on. the vote is about to happen. i pray, in some vague, panicked way. senator leticia van de putte inspires a standing ovation that starts at 11:47pm. what starts as an organic response of support becomes our last hope. we realize that if we shout loud enough, we can run down the clock. 

i don't know if i have ever screamed that loudly.

i'm not sure where my screaming ends and my neighbor's begins. my hands turn bright red from clapping. below on the floor, chaos. the gavel doesn't matter. 

WE ARE RUNNING DOWN THE CLOCK.

 it is like the most epic, important new year's countdown ever. suddenly, there is hope! 

5...4...3...2...special session is over!!!! more cheering!!! wait...they voted? did it pass? what's happening? what did the timestamp say? enter 75 state troopers to clear us out. a woman is arrested, despite protests. the gallery clears. i walk, bewildered, into the 2000 person crowd, looking for a bathroom, telling myself not to complain because senator wendy davis held it way, way longer. i pee, more chaos, and i decide to catch my ride home.

i fall asleep 10 minutes before the 2:20am announcement that sb5 is dead. 

i fall alseep with my heart swelling with pride for wendy davis, my friends, my fellow texans, and myself. we were the underdogs. we were the people. we stood our ground. 

we still have a long, long way to go. this doesn't mean that everything is better, but can i take a minute to cry and appreciate what a huge deal this is?  

i fall asleep thinking about the bill that we didn't get to about minors serving life sentences. 

i fall asleep thinking about redistricting and voting rights, which ironically threaten the very seat of our hero, senator wendy davis. 

wednesday, june 26th: sb5 is dead. DOMA is dead. i'm getting married in august. i'm reading status updates from friends who talk about abolishing marriage and this sense of equality is bullshit and what a distraction this is from the movement, etc. i get all of that. i get it. our system is flawed. it benefits those with power and privilege. i'm getting married in august. i'm not stupid. i'm in love. i have many privileges. DOMA's death is not enough. 

we still have a long, long way to go. this doesn't mean that everything is better, but can i take a minute to cry and appreciate what a huge deal this is?  

i'm falling asleep thinking about everything. i want to celebrate today's small victory with my uncle glenn. i want to stop texas from making deadly laws. i want to keep being proud about being part of something bigger than myself. i'm afraid of negativity causing low morale causing burnout. we must let ourselves feel the little joys, even when the fight isn't over. if not, how will we continue? but perry has already called a new session. i don't have a voice today. i mean, i really don't have a voice because of all the screaming. i need to rest, but my mind is racing. how do we beat this? can we? I'M SO FUCKING PISSED. our system is hopelessly broken. really?! this is how our laws are made!? the bridge collective has been talking about setting up a rideshare/couchsurfing/childcare assistance program for people going to abortion clinics. can we do it? can we organize it on a statewide scale? would it help? i wish someone in my family had called to say "congrats." i don't have that family. but i have a chosen family who has been with me every step of the way. part of me wishes i lived somewhere friendlier, but most of me knows that this is where the fight needs to happen. 

we can't all leave. 

we stand together.