During a walk tonight with Harlow I saw an American flag on someone’s lawn, attached to a stick and coming out of the grass. It’s warm here in Massachusetts right now and it shouldn’t really be. The warm weather just adds to our general confusion with the world.
When I see that flag these days, it makes me think of the confederate flag, rather than a flag that represents my country. It does not feel like a flag I want to claim as my own.
The fact that such a huge number of people voted for Trump again, after years of his bullshit, is a clear indication of how trouble this country is.
We are divided.
Last night I sat alone on my couch waiting for the start of the speech from President Elect Joe Biden. I’d been feeling numb all day about the news that Trump would be evicted come January.
It was depressing to watch alone, which felt fitting for the time. And I felt strange about the fact that I didn’t really believe it was true.
I folded my laundry, patted the dog. The night seemed the same as any other. I think it has to do with the stress of the “leadership” from the last four years. I’ve gotten so used to hearing his nasty abusive words that I cannot fathom something else exists anymore.
Classic battered woman syndrome. I just acclimated to the horrible and tried to make things better for those around me in some way.
So, yeah, I didn’t believe it was real. Then the pundits stopped talking and out came VP elect Kamala Harris in her white suite. A nod to the suffragists. I began to pace while she spoke. Tears coming down my face.
And I felt relief. A weight lifted. It felt real. This is happening.
Maybe things will get better.
I cannot wait for 45 to be in our rearview. I cannot wait for him to be irrelevant again.