Im likewise just feeling fucked up, and on evaluation, I believe thats pretty regular, and I wanted to talk about it– because perhaps youre feeling that way, too.
The parade does not come the day you win the war.
I likewise feel bad for him, due to the fact that what a fucking shitpile hes going to have to clean up. And please be conscious, that whatever it is Im sensation is going to be felt a thousand times worse by those who were genuinely in Trumps crosshairs: anyone not white and male and of some wealth. And I think its fine to feel fucked up about that. To feel unfortunate and upset and not just happy. To be clear, its likewise all right to feel delighted, because for genuine, fuck that fucking loser.
You still may get up anxious.
This early morning, as Donald Trump left the White House for (* knocks on wood *) the last time, it was snowing outdoors. Simply a light scattering of little sugar flakes, sticking to some surfaces but not to others. And after that as he removed, the sun poked through for a minute– a patch of blue sky amidst the gray. Half the sky is turbid gray gunmetal. The other half a cornflower blue.
And now hes gone. Gone from the White House, quickly gone from the presidency. Taking all that he stole with him, bring it away with him, the fucking loser.
Were experiencing a sociological, prevalent variation of an intricate trauma response from persistent direct exposure to feeling … under attack, to feeling hostage. And please understand, that whatever it is Im sensation is going to be felt a thousand times even worse by those who were really in Trumps crosshairs: any person male and not white and of some wealth. He cultivated an environment of hate and restriction against non-binary and transgender Americans. He pressed the racial divide, particularly for Black Americans, who are literally standing in the sights of authorities weapons. He mocked impairment. He increased wealth disparity and punished the poor. And his threat against females was extensive, too– they were his targets, his prey, his tools. Grab them by the– well. He was a bigoted, rapey piece of shit who should be decomposing in an oubliette somewhere.
Weve discovered a lot, I think, about how … well, whatever is a garden. Democracy is a garden. Empathy is a garden. Civilization is a garden. And gardens do not just grow by themselves– there are intrusive species that can settle, there are burglars seeking to take the fruits, the fence can rot, the wind can blow. All of this requires growing and curation. It requires a collective effort and if theres one big positive, its that we figured that out. Trump is gone since of all of you (and Stacey Abrams gets unique note, here). Hes gone since our democracy held– hardly. Its the timeless American scenario: we get ourselves in a bind, plunging the aircraft toward the ground and after that at the last minute we find out how to bring up on the stick. Its not an excellent method to be, but we did it, we made it. And at the danger of continuing to mix my metaphors (settle down, its a blog site, youre not paying for it), the garden will grow anew, and it will require our effort to keep it growing and going. We should dedicate ourselves to that vigilance, to stewardship over this country and its democracy.
But dedicating, and recommitting, to that fight.
Thats how we heal, too.
I feel like a hollowed-out pumpkin. A jack-o-lantern with the candle blown out– my eyes broad, my smile manic, but my middle all empty. Weve protected substantial political triumphes at every election since, however their sweetness never lasted long because some brand-new fuckery was constantly on its way in, a rolling sewage wave crashing down on our beaches.
Day you win the war, you lay on the sand, you search for at the sky.
And I think its all right to feel screwed up about that. Not unfortunate hes gone, obviously. Fuck him. Fuck his sensations, as sure as he fucked ours. I just imply its alright to feel odd. This is healing. We have not had that opportunity to heal yet. It hasnt started up until … probably, right now. And healing is hardly ever comfortable. Its a great thing, recovery– but its not a pure thing, an ideal thing. Its stitches, its resetting of bone, its relearning how to walk, its a limb in a cast, its the itch of cells rejoining. Its uneasy. It harms. It feels weird. That, I presume, is where were at right now. At the point just past injurys last mile marker, and onto the recovery road. But healing requires time, and healing is painful.
The parade comes later.
Walking that recovery road.
Which feels about ideal to me.
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Were still in COVID-19. Were still at the cusp of true, unsafe weather change. Were still going to compete with all the demons Trump launched. Were still marinading in GOP treachery and the stain of the insurrection they incited. A lot of us still have relative whose logical minds are literally lost to this person, to FOX, to the GOP. So, its fine to feel fucked up. To feel sad and angry and not simply delighted. To be clear, its likewise all right to rejoice, due to the fact that for genuine, fuck that fucking loser. It can be all of those things. We can hold many feelings in us. They often compete.
You still might feel unpredictable.
Thats injury. Thats loss. Thats healing.
Well be all right, I hope.
Thats what makes us whole, and human.
He stole so much from us. He stole our comfort. He took lives, jobs, a sense of hope, he stole some of our real democracy– he basically opened the castle gates to COVID-19, which even more was available in and stole buddies and enjoyed ones, it stole work, it stole performance, it took our sense of self, it took our time and our sense of time. He has taken so much.
Were shocked as a country.
You still can feel pleased one minute, and mad the next.
You laugh, maybe. You probably weep. You snuggle and kick at the ground. You go through it– you go through all those feelings, round and round, a carousel of feelings whirling too quick inside you.
Anyhow, thanks all for being here, still, and for withstanding … whatever this is. Its hard not to be upset and raaaaar all the time, but I tried to do it in a way that was … at least amusing and amusing, if absolutely nothing else. Its been a hard row to hoe and I appreciate you all doing it with me. Well keep strolling this roadway, together, I hope. We can maybe talk about something else for a little while.
Thats how we combat the injury, I think. By acknowledging it, seeing that its genuine, by mourning what was lost– and then getting to work, the constant work, the persistent work.
That takes time, however hes doing it, and I applaud him. I also feel bad for him, because what a fucking shitpile hes going to have to clean up. (Not to discuss the smell hes going to have to get out of the White House.
I kinda believed this day would come and I d simply be pure elation. Blue sky for miles! It d be Champagne corks-a-poppin and mimosas, it d be hooting and screaming, just 100% unrefined, uncut bliss. Electric schadenfreude. Liberty glee. Its not all that. Its not all the method there. Im likewise sort of sad, and tired, and feeling a little frizzled out. Dont get me incorrect. Im likewise pleased as fuck. Fuck that man. Weve been trapped in the males mind for 4 years, all part of a human centipede chain connecting to his mouth, which is also his asshole, as he gradually forced all of us to compete with his hot piping bullshit. Him being plugged into social media like he was implied we never ever needed to question what he was believing, due to the fact that there he sat, on his golden toilet, petulantly rage-tweeting his every despiteful, lackwit impulse right into our skulls. You might silence him, obstruct him, however someone would screengrab it and reveal it to you. Or the media would unceremoniously simply get whatever incorrect, inane claim he made and utilize it as their headline without context or clearness. We lived inside his head. Its great to have broken out. We beat him. We cracked open his forehead, kicked past the drape of his naughahyde flesh, and ran for the goddamn hills. We won. Lets run.
Since heres the thing:.