Insignificance

[judecorp]

It feels so insignificant and selfish to continue writing about my day to day affairs when there is catastrophe out there. Part of me knows that there is always catastrophe out there somewhere and that the entire idea of life going on is exactly what keeps it moving. Indeed, without a little selfishness, our existence would just be a continual dwelling on past bad events. True.

But at the same time, I can't help but feel like a major heel writing about things like work and eating junk food, when there are people and animals floating around dead in a flooded and toxic city I have never had the privilege to visit and know only through the eyes of Hot Mormon Julie on the Real World. I know that I can't write All Disaster All the Time, and I know I can't fall into my lifelong trap where a bad situation somewhere leaves me guilty feelings where I don't deserve any enjoyment. But still.

My heart just goes out to all of those creatures, four-legged and two, living and dead, out in the Gulf Coast area. I still keenly remember buying toiletries and bringing them to Ground Zero. I wish it were equally as easy for me to help out, even in a little way, this time. (Aside from donating to the Red Cross, we've already done that.)

Comments

[gabriellag.livejournal.com]

I have to watch, even if it does hurt, and it does nothing, I know.

I put a room up on hurricanehousing.org for a single female, or a woman with one child, but I doubt anyone wants to move to a random small town in Ohio. It made me feel better, though. And we do have great services here, and I know the reporters of the local paper. Anyone that came would get the help the need.

I hate that the refugees are 95% black, and somehow that seems to make a difference. I hate that people are telling me it's their fault for not getting out. Hello? These people are poor. They live in a city and don't own cars. How, exactly were they supposed to get out? Why are we seemingly doing nothing? I'm just so frustrated now.

On a lighter note... Julie, good old Julie. She was in my second grade class. One of my two best friends in second grade. I went to her house and got a tour of the food pantry in the basement. (Mormons keep an emergency supply for um, I'm not quite sure what for, but the do, and I remember it vividly). I played with her brothers. She signed my yearbook. I was inseperable from her for a year. I e-mailed her once she was on the Real World. She "thought" she remembered me, but claimed to have gone to a bunch of different schools and didn't have many static memories from childhood. Anyway, thought you might find that interesting.

[judecorp.livejournal.com]

I'm seriously jealous of your Julie-ness. (And for the record, Mormons are required to keep all of that emergency stuff in their basements. It's so that if there is a disaster, the Mormons will keep on thriving, yo!)

I think it's easy for people to sit behind their televisions and computer screens and yell at people because they can't relate. I think it's easy to look at all the people stuck in their attics and say, "Foolish people! Why didn't you leave?" because they haven't been in a situation where they had to choose. I think it's easier to concentrate on the few people who /could/ have left (and chose not to) rather than the people who need to be exacuated from hospitals and prisons, just like it's easier to concentrate on some looters instead of all of the people stranded on their rooftops praying for help... and drinking water.

Besides, it's so much easier to blame the people for not evacuating, because then you don't have to think about helping out. Why should you help someone who chose their fate with their own stupidity, right?