Holy balls, friends.
I don’t know about you, but I woke up in one fuckin’ shit storm of a world. I apologize ahead of time to any readers who are Trump supporters for my wallowing…wait…no, I don’t. You’re a bunch of twats. Get the fuck off my blog and go gloat somewhere else…there are plenty of marginalized folks out there today reeling in pain. Go wave your rebel flags and your sexism over there. This post isn’t going to make sense. There’s no narrative flow. No three-act structure. I simply want to capture the insanely fucked up feels I felt on this crazy day. Aight? So skidaddle and move along.
So, I honestly didn’t know what to expect when I voted yesterday. I wasn’t exactly excited about the establishment, but at least the establishment wasn’t boasting of truly horrendous things, saying truly horrendous things…promising truly horrendous things. Fuck…
I’ll reign it in. We all know what happened. We were witness to this shit show of an election together.
Suffice to say I woke up and I ugly cried while watching the aftermath on Morning Joe. Snot bubbles. Smeared mascara. To quote another dill-hole of a president…I woke up to shock and awe. I spent the majority of the day numb and am SO thankful I live in a well insulated den of liberalism. Having to face the gloating conservatives we lived among in previous cities would have driven me to postal proportions. My dad called me before I walked into work. He started with a little jab (sigh…he’s a Trump supporter), but when he heard the tears in my voice, he immediately painted a brighter picture–reminding me that, basically, the entire government is ineffective and that our lives aren’t going to drastically change overnight just because the Trumpkin won. My dad and I have never agreed on politics or universities in Texas…like, ever… so I never worry about us not seeing eye to eye. For the most part (unless we’re talking global warming/climate change), he and I can talk about anything and our differences of opinion be damned. We’re cool like that and I needed him today more than ever.
My mom and I connected online a little today, too, and it seemed she was just as shocked as me. She told me about being in 5th grade when JFK was assassinated and kicked off a really ugly time in our nation’s Civil Rights history. She told me the story to remind me that life kept going and eventually returned to normal…even when Reagan was elected. Ha! I love my mom.
My kids didn’t take the news well. My oldest, a middle schooler with his own proud Latino heritage was floored and struggled to keep his emotions under better control than I was as he struggled to talk about his family in El Paso and how they must be feeling. My kindergartner had her own reaction to the news. She shit herself in class, poor thing. I can’t make this up. I literally got a call at 10 a.m. to pick her up because she had an “accident” and I’m fairly certain it’s because that orange nightmare of a bully is slated to be the most powerful man in the free world. The baby was bummed that “Harley Quinn” didn’t win, only knowing that was who her older sister had voted for in the elementary school’s mock election (somehow “Hillary Clinton” got warped into “Harley Quinn” in her adorable mind.) And my middle boy? He promised me that he’d grow up and tear down any wall these assholes try to build. Sweet, sweet boy.
Shitty news seems to come in waves and by 3 p.m., I was overreacting to about as much as I could. The second car we bought to make our lives easier was basically a rust bucket piece of shit that can’t be fixed with the massive amounts of cash we already piled into it. I cried. The bright prospect that promised a new career adventure disappeared off the company’s website today with no word. I cried. Ran out of milk. I cried. Agonized over the fact that we’re a family of six with no working dryer? I cried. Passive aggressive e-mails about stupid shit that doesn’t matter? I cried.
It got a little silly by the end–pulling up the boy who dumped me in the 9th grade MIGHT have been a bit of a stretch. Pretty sure I’m all over that now, but in the spirit of the shittiest of days, I threw it into the pile and had myself a major overreaction bonfire. The thing about that wallowing, though, is that it gets old. And exhausting.
By the time my mascara was down past my chin and my tear ducts felt like concrete, I decided to get the fuck over it. I celebrated the shittiest of bad days with a bath, a Korean sheet mask, and a big, fat beer. I came downstairs let my adorable husband play Bob Marley’s 3 Little Birds a few times and watched some Golden Girls reruns while unfriending a FUCK TON of idiots that I should never have been connected with in the first place. Maybe it’s the Bea Arthur, maybe it’s the Sam Adams…but by 7 p.m. tonight, things look a little better. I’ve got a family to feed pizza to, a book to write, and a patriarchy to smash…I mean who doesn’t love living with a purpose…amiright?
By 7 p.m., it was clear that things are going to move forward. They will. They have to.
I don’t know any other way to say it to my fam who got their hearts ripped out by the election of a psychopath other than…every little thing is gonna be okay. I promise.