It’s 9:45am and I’m wet and shaky. Fresh out of the shower, overheated, dizzy, and counting the seconds till I can go back to not feeling every single drop of water or sweat prickling on my skin. 

It happened, why didn’t they just put him in jail? What other convicted felon has ever been given such generous latitude from the courts that sentenced him?

This part of my day I spend in my underwear, until I cool off enough to put on pants or a shirt — rarely both if I’m not going anywhere. I like seeing parts of myself reflected in the kitchen appliances as I walk by. I like seeing the curve of my boobs in the bathroom mirror, or the way my underwear hugs my butt when I bend down to pick up a hair band my cat swatted onto the floor. 

I want to scream and tear my hair out. I want to fill every red voter’s ears with the terror and rage and pain that every queer person has ever felt in their lifetimes. I want to drag them to the bottom of the centuries-deep ocean of sorrow we all carry inside us. 

After a shower, I like the way my thighs rub together when I walk, feeling soft skin against soft skin with every step. I smell good, too. Like sandalwood from the Nécessaire body wash everyone’s been raving about. I’m on my second bottle, I can see why so many beauty writers love it. 

I don’t want them to know, I want them to feel, to live, what they’ve done to us. This is a cold rage, frigid and terrible. Bleak as a winter famine.

My cheeks feel dry and smooth, in that supple, just-moisturized way. Shaving can be really hard on my skin, especially after so many years on hormones, but I’ve got a good routine to make sure I don’t get razor burn. If I’m patient enough to follow it, of course. Some days I don’t take my time and my cheeks and neck feel hot and irritated as I step out of the shower. If I’m feeling extra masochistic, I’ll splash some glycolic acid on my cheeks right after. The burn only lasts a few seconds but it’s knife-sharp and cuts deep. My skin is always extra smooth and soft after. 

We know the cold, and we have it within us whether we want to or not. This world put it there. She is life-hungry and relentless. Let her rage and claw and shriek, tearing roots from the earth and rending those who would do us harm. 

Today was a moisturizer day, a soft and careful day. No stinging, only soothing. While I felt my face gratefully drink up the lotion I plugged in the noise canceling headphones —today’s a therapy day for my partner. 

If our rage is a winter storm, our love is a hearth. It’s gentle and nourishing. It’s the same warmth that sustained our ancestors through the night — and that is what they fear the most. There was queerness before there was fascism, there were trans people before there was a Jesus. We have always been here, and we always will be.

I pull on a pair of loose linen pants, I’ve been using them as mending practice so there’s navy blue stitching along the inseam. I check out my butt in the bathroom mirror, and go turn on the kettle to make tea for my partner. I switch on the espresso machine to make a frothy latte for me.

Tuesday happened, and we can’t make it un-happen. All we can do is let the storm howl and tend our fires.