WARNING: Foul language will be encountered, should you choose to proceed.
Wow. Just wow. It’s taken me several days now to try to sort the jumble of words in my brain. And I’m not really sure I’ve accomplished much more than this: WTF America?
I’m having such a difficult time squaring this circle. I’m fairly certain I’m not alone, but I find no solace in that thought. I find no comfort knowing that others are sharing this pain.
And pain it is. I’ve seen this compared to grief, loss, anger, disappointment, disbelief that the unimaginable has occurred, etc, etc, etc. (And all I have running through my brain is the soundtrack from Hamilton, an American musical: “It’s Quiet Uptown.” “…he’s dealing with the unimaginable…”)
I’m also fairly certain I’ve been through Kubler-Ross’s five stages of grief about 27 times. Up and back down again, over and over and over. Like a bad record.
I’ve done everything I know how to do when it comes to taking care of myself and self-helping myself through a difficult, to put it mildly, time.
I’ve been lotus-sitting, deep-breathing and mandala-coloring. There is nothing I haven’t tried in the last several days. Well, I haven’t smoked any marijuana. Nor gone sky-diving.
I’ve burned all of my expensive smelly candles in an attempt at aromatherapy. I’ve been crossword-puzzling, Sudoku-ing and My Little Pony playing.
I’ve been standing next to my table top water fountain trying to get in tune with the trickling water sounds. I’ve gone outside to feed the birds, talk to the birds, watch the birds. I’ve loved on the dogs, thrown balls for the dogs, brushed the dogs, fed the dogs, cleaned up after the dogs.
I’ve cleaned the house. I’ve let the dirt accumulate on the floor. I’ve looked at the bathrooms, trying to get up the energy to clean them, then said, “WTF” and walked away.
I’ve read articles on how we need to “understand Trump supporters” and promptly threw up in my mouth a little bit.
I’ve read articles on how we must resist. And stand up and fight. How? What?
I’ve read columns on impending doom, global calamity. I’ve had friends (Trump-supporting friends mind you) text me and tell me that it’s all going to be just fine. And don’t I know that? And don’t I know that I’m old enough to know that and wise enough to know that? (I ended the conversation.)
I’ve cried. I’ve reassured my daughter while she was crying. I’ve had my husband reassure me.
I’ve read horrendous posts about the violence being perpetrated against all those people deemed “other” by Trump supporters.
I’ve watched our dear, esteemed President Obama sit grimly in the Oval Office and shake the hand of the man who tried to delegitimize his presidency for years (and then denied doing so). A man who President O knows, in his heart of hearts, is not just temperamentally unfit, but completely, wholly, undeniably unfit to hold the highest office in the land. And President Obama had to do this for the sake of this nation. Can you even imagine how that must have felt? I cannot.
I’ve listened to jazz music, Hamilton the musical, watched White Christmas (because, Bing Crosby). All in an attempt to distract myself from the searing, white-hot, gut-wrenching, life-upending pain of this week.
Remember the earthquake and tsunami in Japan? And how it actually caused the earth’s axis to get all wobbly.
Yeah. We’re bat-shit crazy wobbly here in America. And that will soon translate to the rest of the world as well.
I’ve read articles ranging from saying that “all will be well, don’t worry” to articles spelling impending global economic collapse.
I’ve read theories stating that Campaign Trump is so much different from President Trump. And then theories that he’ll be impeached by his own party cause they only ever wanted Mike Pence (which is a whole other story for another day…another nightmare to try to wake up from…that dude is one bad hombre). And the final consensus?
Who the fuck knows what is going to happen.
I told you to choose well. I told you to choose light, not dark. That meant choosing good not evil, happy thoughts not fear. That meant choosing to love your neighbor, not rip off their hijabs and beat the crap out of them. That meant not teaching your middle school children how to chant “build that wall” in the cafeteria at a middle school in Michigan. That meant not scrawling on a wall in Durham, NC “Black lives don’t matter and neither does your votes.” (Nice grammar there graffiti dudes. Learn to speak and write correctly please.)
Choosing well does not mean yelling at someone speaking Spanish, in a personal conversation on her phone, and then when she tells you she speaks four languages, telling her to “fuck off.”
Choosing well does not mean telling a black person they have to sit at the back of the bus because we have a new president now.
All of these things have happened in the few short days since this country elected a racist, misogynistic, anti-Semitic, bullying, narcissistic megalomaniac.
And do you know what his response has been?
A tweet about the protests being “so unfair” because we had “an open election.”
Yet just three short weeks ago (seems like a lifetime ago) this same demagogue was complaining about rigged elections.
Things that make me bat-shit crazy, off-my-rocker, nuts0-insanely mad.
Way to go America. Nice fucking job.
(No, I’m not signing off here with my usual “Blessings be” because at this moment, I’m in the anger stage. I expect I’ll get out of it soon, as I’ve been cycling in and out since Tuesday night. I’ll be compassionate again soon. I promise.)