The Agreed-Upon Grotesquery of Black Friday

thoughts from a hospital waiting room

Every year, at about this time (although this period seems to creep earlier and earlier, like a mold splattering slowly across a damp wall), my inbox fills with companies and small businesses asking me to purchase something from them.

This ritual used to be concentrated around Black Friday—the day after Thanksgiving when people trampled all over one another at Walmart to purchase a more affordable giant television, literally killing people in the process—but now occurs at least a week before Thanksgiving.

COME! BUY STUFF! 50% OFF! 60% OFF! 70% OFF! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, BUY FROM ME!

Here is a side note: I write this from one of the waiting rooms that litter Stanford Hospital. C and I are here because he is to be admitted today for a variety of compications related to his cancer recovery; we’ll receive a call when we know what building, wing, and room to enter. Beginning from his cancer diagnosis in 2023, he’s encountered profound difficulties along the way. I badly wish I could take the pain from him.

“I’ll be your advocate,” I texted him earlier today as we were gathering various belongings, right before we left the house. “I’ll be as ferocious as a dragon.”

I check my email.

48 hours left to collect the limited edition prints.

New: The XXXX Box in Season Hues.

Want a free course, Es?

Black Friday feels particularly odd to me this year when so many of us are pinching our pennies and sending money to mutual aid when we can. I know that I’m not the only one with a loved one in the hospital or dealing with serious illness. I am both tempted by black velvet shoes with black velvet bows from Birdies and also committed to only buying things that feel essential to my art-making lifestyle.

But I also don’t blame these small business owners who are sending me emails about 30% off their templates or BLACK FRIDAY IS HERE! or UP TO 50% OFF FOR A LIMITED TIME WHILE SUPPLIES LAST! I don’t long for Bezos to make another billion, but I understand that these small-time business owners are trying to survive. After all, I’m one of them.

I, too, am selling things this week. It feels ridiculous to tell you that while I wander from wing to wing in this gigantic building!!! But while I lug around bags and my cane and doze in silent waiting rooms filled with wheelchairs and K95 masks, I am here, joining the litany of people who are adding to your inbox this week and I don’t know how to do it well under these circumstances. I can only tell you what I have. HI, EVERYONE.

I made a Self-Care Bundle for Creatives. The Self-Care Bundle is now live: Self-Care for Creatives + Writing Through the Storm for $19 (regular price: $39).

When I created these guides, I was thinking of all of us who try to maintain our creative practices while navigating life's challenges. Whether you're dealing with chronic illness, mental health challenges, or the everyday demands of living with limitations, these guides offer practical ways to sustain your creative spirit.

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Self-Care for Creatives (full video workshop with transcript and workbook)

• Your "creative compost heap" and how to nurture it

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• My restorative journaling techniques for difficult times

• Tools for building resilience while maintaining creativity

• Methods for processing emotions through creative expression

• Your personal care handbook creation guide

→ Get the Self-Care Bundle here for only $19 (normally $39)

This offer is available only through Saturday night. (It says only available Nov 29 and 30 on the page… but the REASONS FOR LIVING readers get it in advance.) I wanted to make it very affordable because I myself am heistant to spend money these days, even though Black Friday week used to mean that I’d buy all the pretty things that I wanted that were now discounted—November and December used to be dangerous times for my credit card. I wanted to sell something that would be worthwhile—something that would help people in these extremely troubled times, when one might wonder if art means anything (it does), or if, as I am now, one should be spending time asking you if you’d like to purchase something when the real want is something beyond consumerism.

If the bundle doesn’t seem like something that interests you, please have a look at the shop to see if there’s anything else that interests you as a person, and/or as a writer, living with limitations.

“Do we need a new blender? The one we have keeps leaking,” I texted C this morning. (He is having trouble talking.) (Protein shakes are a useful component to his diet.)

Life is so strange, and I don’t blame you for finding this email weird, if you do. The sky is a flat, slate gray. I am listening to a podcast about “Vanderpump Rules” while we wait for the room to be available. I am sending all the love to you and yours.