A thing I am grappling with is my life as a professor at a prestigious university and my life as a black woman whose family could not afford the tuition of my workplace nor the benefit of innocent bliss.

My timeline has been filled with angiush over the multiple deaths of black people, complete with vivid videos that autoplay.

I get to hear the stats about black people dying from COVID19 at higher rates. I have friends who are attending multiple family funerals bc of COVID19

I had not one but two acquaintances be zoom-bombed with racial slurs. I listened to them shrug it off, because “hey another day and racist thing to happen to them” and “they have heard worse”

And they have every single black academic I know has.

I listened to my brothers fears about wearing a mask in public because they worried they would be seen as being dangerous. They have to decided btwn the safety of wesring a mask and the safety of not getting shot.

I am a professor but my brother(s) are essential workers. They didnt always get masks supplied.

I get to hear about black friends struggling to get access to small business loans. My hair stylist may not open her shop back up. (Btw do you know how hard it is to find a hairstylist you LIKE!! Deep sigh)

I get to hear about black people with respectable degrees and positions being threatened and listening to people who have casual convos where they still think pulling yourself up by your bootstrap will stop discrimination.

I hear all of this as I sit in the safety of my home. Safe but not feeling safe at all. I’m physically safe, but existentially? Statistically?

I’m making plans for reopening my lab. I’m making plans to not read through twitter for a while. Which is ironic bc twitter was the place I went to as a graduate student when I was looking for community (shoutout #blackandstem)

So yeah, so conclusion to this read. But woman, There is a lot happening and it sure fucking feels heavy.

Sorry for the typos. My twitter fingers are tired.