February 15th through the 21st will forever live among my select memories as “The Lost Week of 2021.” Karma also kicked my ass. I no longer enjoy most time travel movies, so the sudden loss of all the amenities that contribute to life in the 21st century, fetched my daily survival back to the 19th century with remnants of contemporary life there merely to mock me.

In addition to the burdens of staying warm, clean, hydrated and relatively sane, I worried about not working. No matter how much civilization had collapsed, bill collectors would still collect the bills.

First up, the rent. Once I took refuge a friend’s house because I no longer had running water nor electricity at my place, I used her WiFi to email the leasing office. I didn’t outright beg, but I explained that without an ethernet connection, I couldn’t work, which put rent in jeopardy. Since the leasing office also didn’t have electricity, one of the agents didn’t respond until a few days later when the situation had been already resolved.

Turned out, my roommate handled March’s rent. On top of that, my parents and one of my sisters sent monetary relief. An act that reduced me to tears. Never had I ever asked my family for money, but the confluence of bad circumstances motivated them to offer assistance.

The next worrisome bill, health insurance. I hadn’t seen a doctor in years. Nonetheless, since I’m a half century old, I won’t dare be without it. I overlooked the glitchiness of their payment portal, which manifested as messing up my date of birth until I found a work around the issue. From there, I paid my premium.

A few days later, I checked my bank account online and nearly pissed my pants. The health insurer had charged the monthly premium three times. Fortunately, my bank account hadn’t been overdrawn, but still.

I immediately logged out of work to call the carrier. Either the customer service representative was new to her job or she was borderline incompetent. Either way, when I explained the situation to her, she suggested that I’d mistaken an invoice for a bill. I corrected her. “I’m looking at the deductions from my bank account online.” Throughout our conversation, she repeatedly suggested that I hadn’t been charged three times, just invoiced.

I was about to lose it. Say “invoice” one more ‘gain. See what happens. Instead, I changed tactics. Adult temper tantrum averted.

I told her that when I paid January’s premium, I had only been charged once. She checked the date, which was the day after the money had left my account.

I asked her to make a note of my complaint, so when I called back the following day, I wouldn’t have to start from scratch with the next customer service rep.

Then, I worked off my angst in my Inferno Hot Pilates class.

Afterwards, I called my bank. That customer service rep sounded far more competent. She explained that the fastest way to deal with the duplicate charges would be a refund from the vendor. In the meantime, she instructed me on how to dispute the charges online.

I encountered another glitch. First I changed browsers from Safari to Chrome. Then, I switched laptops to use a hardwired connection on Chrome instead of WiFi. Bingo! At that point, I disputed the two duplicate charges, which could take up to 90 days to resolve.

The following day, a Friday, I started my weekly ritual of cleaning my apartment. In actuality, I merely killed time until I felt the health insurance company’s customer service had opened. I put on my handsfree headset and started the waiting game on hold while cleaning my apartment. As I listened to hold music, I pulled up my bank account. Lo and behold! the money had been restored. I hung up.

Then I read messages on my phone. My coworkers were discussing work platform malfunctions. Of course. 2021 won’t allow me a few moments of inner peace between crises. At least these problems were from the 21st century and not the 19th.

Presidents’ Day: Monday, February 15th, 2021 My battery-operated alarm clock sounded at 6:30 AM. I blindly slept walk to my bathroom, flipping on the light. Except there wasn’t any light. Just the empty gesture of moving the light switch. Even in my morning brain fog, I didn’t bother going through the useless motions of flipping the light switch from one position to another. It was finally our turn to be in the dark. 

The prolonged Artic blast of air, which plunged the temperature, motivated everyone to turn up the heat at home. Since everything’s bigger in Texas, our collective energy consumption was no exception. Having lived in developing countries in my younger days, I’d learned the wisdom of having a battery-operated alarm clock for random power outages. One of the habits I’ve not broken even though I relocated to the States over a decade ago. 

Unlike power outages in the past, there was no clear end in sight. Whatever vulnerabilities to the power grid, the electric company wasn’t actually scheduling rolling black outs. They turned off what they could to conserve energy for the places that were the top priority such as hospitals. 

As a Peace Corps Volunteer, my life hadn’t come to a screeching halt just because the electricity or water would stop running. I had stored water in buckets, flashlights, candles and a kerosene stove. Since I lived on campus along with the students, school never stopped just because there wasn’t running water or electricity. 

Unlike now. I couldn’t work since, without electricity, I didn’t have neither Wi-Fi nor ethernet. Even if I could’ve connected, I wouldn’t have worked as long as I usually did since there was only so much charge to a laptop battery. I did the next best thing: used the bathroom and returned to bed until the sun arose. 

My mind churned. Whose house could I work at? Wait, the snowed over, icy roads. That 133-vehicle pile-up last week. What would I eat? Can’t open the refrigerator. Crackers, mixed nuts, peanut butter, liquid veggie broth concentrate, pumpkin seeds, peanuts. And the most luxurious item, spicy red wine…I saved for lunch. 

I put on more clothes once the sun came up. Opened all the blinds to preserve my flashlight battery. Residual warm water to wash my face. Made my bed and moved to the living room, snacking on mixed nuts and water while reading, which sustained me for hours.

My mind drifted to those three Cubans who had been stranded on a deserted island for 35 days. They survived off minimal food, water and shelter. My apartment was far more comfortable.  

Throughout the day, emails via my phone data plan suggested ways to conserve energy. “Fuck you, I have no electricity to conserve!” My phone remained in my bedroom turned off for most of the day. People in other parts of Texas had been without electricity anywhere from 12 hours to 36 hours. Apparently, we were in for a longer haul. 

I planned out what I wanted before opening the door. I quickly grabbed some Gouda and a tomato. Garnished my cheese and tomato crackers with fresh cracked pepper. Today would have been the day I would’ve broken down to have hot food delivered—except for the obvious reason of no one should have been driving. After eating, I continued what turned out to be the majority of my day: reading and napping intermittingly. Previously, I had the illusion of how long a day was because of all the activity I’d do within the day. I hardly did anything. I went to bed at sunset. Now I understand how Rip Van Winkle managed to sleep so much time away. He lived in Texas during a snowstorm.

Mardi Gras: Tuesday, February 16th, 2021 If I thought Presidents’ Day sucked, I had no idea that was merely the appetizer. The following day we had a brief reprieve from the snow and slightly warmer weather. I wished people “Happy Mardi Gras!” en route to the library, which was the extent of my celebration.

One of the benefits of marathon reading yesterday, I finished my library book. Didn’t take much to convince my roommate to walk with me to the library to return it. That trek convinced me of the direness of the situation. I had no contact with the outside world via TV. Granted, I had my phone, but I only turned it on to periodically check email for updates.

But on the street, I saw a line circling around the nearest corner store because it was the only one open. Even the neighborhood grocery store was closed. I made my way to the library with careful footing to avoid ice by mostly crunching on the snow beside the sidewalk. I actually felt warmer outside since I was moving. Plus, I had on several layers.

From the inside out, pajama top and pants. Then sweat pants and two hoodies. I wiggled on a pair of jeans on top of the other two pairs of pants. And finally, a winter rainproof jacket. I changed my indoor gloves for outdoor gloves and put on one of my pandemic masks to help my lips from freezing. Oh yeah, and to prevent catching the plague.

A few steps from the book depository, I slipped, but didn’t fall. A feat I attributed to daily yoga routines…up until this shit happened.

Didn’t find any hot food while we were out. Once again, had to make due with a cold meal. Tortilla chips and a glass of red wine with peanut brittle for dessert. Once again, bedded down around 6:30 PM when night fell.

Ash Wednesday: February 17th, 2021 Before getting out of bed, I psyched myself up to take an icy shower. The hot water was either turned off because once again, the apartment complex had to fix the pipes or it was a consequence of the snow storms. Either way, as I remained in bed, I brainstormed how to lessen the impact before jumping into a cold shower.

As soon as I threw back the warm layers of covers, I’d take off the many layers of clothing. That burst of cold would just be the start. I removed two pairs of pants at the same time. When I peeled them away from one another, the most spectacular display of static electricity sparkled and popped. Too bad I didn’t have enough cell phone battery to capture the moment. Nor the available technology to capture its energy to charge up my cell phone.

Then, I used the bathroom. The plan was to wash my hands in cold water afterwards to further prepare myself for an impending cold shower. When I flushed the toilet, I knew my plan was fucked. There are certain sounds that are supposed to happen like when you flush your toilet. That’s how I discovered I no longer had running water. I’d waited too late for the icy shower plan, but not the icy washup. 

The most important body parts no longer had three days of stank on them. I texted a friend, who’s more like a sister or even another mother when she nags me out of concern.  She invited me to stay with her.

After eating a salad made of spinach, red bell pepper and Italian dressing, I packed my electronics backpack and clothing suitcase for three days at her house. For some optimistic reason, I figured that even Texas could get its corrupt ass togetherin that amount of time to literally bring power to the people. 

Although I’m childfree by choice, I knew how to drive granny speed. Once out of my apartment complex, the streets were impressively clear and the highway was even better. The trip had taken the same amount of time had there been traffic. The most dangerous street turned out to be my friend’s. I parked my car in an accumulation of snow, hoping that when I’d leave to return home in a few days, it would have melted. 

Before getting out of the car, I texted my friend that I’d arrived. Her warm welcome followed by her two Corgi fur babies and husband made the trip all the more worth it. Yet, apparently, I’d brought my bad luck with me. Their water pressure lessened after my arrival and by nighttime, there was no running water. 

Most people have common sense, but it’s the fools who ruin it for everyone. When advised to leave the faucets dripping overnight, most people knew that didn’t mean to leave the faucets running. Due to that practice along with freezing/bursting pipes, the water pressure tanked. Those who still had water were then told NOT to drip their faucets in order to build up the water pressure. Some hospitals and prisons didn’t have water. If there’s a God, then She will see fit that good things happen to those who had to hand remove waste from the toilets in those facilities.

Since my friend and I were both Returned Peace Corps Volunteers (RPCVs), we knew the drill. I’d use one bathroom and she and her husband would use the other. We followed the “if it’s yellow let it mellow; if it’s brown flush it down rule.” Thanks to my anal retentiveness when under severe stress, I knew I wouldn’t have to flush until the day I planned to leave. 

What I hadn’t counted on was the dull ache behind my left eye, which at times, pulsated all the way to the back of my head. At first, I worried it was due to dehydration or undereating. However, I’d only experienced that pain twice before.Both times, prolonged stress had triggered it.  The Snow Apocalypse and my temporary refugee status were the culprits this time. 

My friend kept the TV on, which was helpful for accessing the news, especially the everchanging timeline of when Austinites would receive power and water. Using my friend’s laptop, I logged on to work a little over two hours. I didn’t make great money, but in the long run, some money’s better than none. 

Funny though, the only clean warm pajamas I had was my Santa and Rudolf pants. My friend wore her Christmas-themed pajama pants in solidarity. We actually looked as if we were having a seasonal slumber party. 

Thursday, February 19th, 2021 More proof that I was a water curse: my roommate texted me that we had running water again. My friend told me I couldn’t go home until the power as well. I reminded her that I believed I could return on Friday.

In the meantime, I logged on again to make some money. Enjoyed a wonderful meal of chicken flautas since her husband found an open restaurant. And one of their friends dropped off a five-gallon container of water, to which my friend and I screamed, “Drinking water!” as if Santa himself had gifted it. Yes, we STILL wore our seasonal pajamas. 

Friday, February 20^th, 2021 I microwaved a plastic bowl of melted snow. After enjoying a warm washup, I put on clean clothes in anticipation of going home. An hour later, my roommate texted me pictures of the lights on.

Since I’d kept my things more or less packed, I said my round of good byes, including the fur babies and drove home. The plan was to boil drinking water as I unpacked, warm up some food, then log on to work. 

When will I learn?

Of course, there was no internet or cable. Although 96% of Austinities had electricity, half of our apartment complex still had no electricity, including the leasing office, which housed the internet/cable hub. Until they were up and running again, none of us would have connectivity. 

On the bright side, the leasing office invited all residents to stop by the “lounge,” (turned out to be the former volleyball court) with our masks to pick up tacos and a box of pizza. Free with rent, as my roommate and I think of it. We picked up our dinner.

Just to tease us, I could only access it if my laptop was hard-wired. So, I could make money again since my work laptop was hard-wired, but not access Wi-Fi on my phone or personal laptop. I know, first-world problems.

Yet, I received some old-world compassion. In addition to staying with a friend for a few days, a fellow poet sent me money and for the first time in life, my parents offered to send me money. I’d never asked anyone for money, and I still haven’t, but I graciously accepted their help. Plus, I psyched myself up to working every single day from now until…

With the help from one of my sisters, my 80-year-old mother signed up with Venmo to send me money. That process took about 40 minutes, in part because my phone kept dropping the call. We emailed and texted. The tech gods finally tired of messing with us and allowed the process to complete. At the end of which, Mom actually thanked me for my patience and was excited that she’d learned a new trick. I told her that I was the one who grateful.

Back then, I lived and taught at an American school in Tegucigalpa, Honduras. In order not to miss the historic moment, I got permission from the high school principal to organize an assembly just so I could watch it.

This time around, I was my own boss. I graciously gave myself the day off. After four years of the most unbelievable presidency, I wanted to watch the blessed ending of that one and the auspicious beginning of the next one. All from the comfort of my red sofa. I considered it to be Christmas come early, so I wore my Santa and Rudolph pajama pants.

Thanks to the pandemic, there was no crowd. Given the tumultuous way election certification went down, I was totally on board with far fewer people in attendance.

DC Capitol police officer, Eugene Goodman, who led insurrectionists away from the open Senate door, which allowed the politicians more time to seek safety, including the ones whose rhetoric helped set the stage for a coup attempt.

Kamala Harris and the soon-to-be first second gentleman, Doug Emhof, emerged on the scene.

the first Black VP greeting the first Black President.

newly elected Joe Biden and Dr. Jill Biden.

The moment I’ve been waiting for my entire life…

I love Obama witnessing the process.

(I’m typing this up weeks after the fact when Biden recently cleared the way for Puerto Rico to FINALLY receive funding to rebuild.)

That was the first year so much Spanish was sung during the event. And she didn’t disappoint this time around as well.

the most votes any American president has ever received in the history of our country.

On this point, I was cautiously optimistic while I viewed the inauguration. After all, this was a joyous day and I didn’t want to dream up ways the Democrats could fuck up having the House, the Senate and the White House, searching for unity with Republicans.

He never did sing with his eyes open. Nonetheless, I appreciated hearing a musician more known for having more conservative fans, performing a song written by a repentant slave ship captain.

What I didn’t take a picture of, because it would have actually required video, was afterward, when Garth’s happy ass couldn’t wait to shake hands and hug all of those VIPs. I was screaming at the TV for him to keep his hands to himself. I know he was caught up in the emotion of the moment, but damn, remember the plague?!

“The Hill We Climb,” which included the recent insurrection. In another historical first, Gorman will perform an original poem for the 55th Super Bowl.

which he did not feel the need to hold up and show the cameras. I loved his attitude about not writing new laws, but rather undoing bad policy. Amen to that and God Bless the United States of America.