We are two days away from the Obamas moving out of the White House and the Trumps not moving in because their special snowflake wants to stay in school in New York. In advance of the main shitshow, we’ve gotten to watch Jeff Sessions claim to be a civil rights activist and Betsy DeVos claim to be a wildlife-infiltrating-elementary-schools activist.
I still haven’t watched Obama’s farewell speech. How could I face that right now? I am no less horrified than I was two months ago. I kind of just want to get through the inauguration so it’s over and we can get on with the misery that we just have to bear as well as we can. I guess I’m seeing Trump’s impending Presidency as a four-year pap smear.
I am afraid. I am afraid every day. Not every day since November. Every day. My whole life. PTSD is like that, where you have normalized something pretty awful to such an extent that you don’t even realize it’s not what other people do. You don’t even recognize it’s there, because it always has been. But I spoke my omnipresent fear the other day to someone, and I realized that a) it’s the damned truth, and b) it’s actually not the way most people in comfortable circumstances live their lives.
Scared every day. Scared to take risks. Scared to confront people. Scared to speak up.
Those of you who know me in real life are confused right now, because I do take risks. I do confront people when I have to. I definitely do speak up. But I do that through my fear, and it takes a great toll on me. Perhaps I do it because if I didn’t, I would shrink backwards away from the world. Or perhaps it’s just my overdeveloped sense of social responsibility.
Either way, the appalling fact of Trump’s ascent to Commander in Chief/LL Bean marketing intern has activated me and pushed me out of that comfort zone. I have to work hard and push for what is right. Not that I always know what is right, but I can talk to people and listen to them. Really listen to them, and learn about what is important in their lives.
The awesome thing? That all around me I see other people feeling the same way. And I mean “awesome” in the original, English Romantics kind of way.
I know what you’re thinking. “That’s all well and good, lady, but what did you bake today?”
I defrosted one of the many jars of pumpkin I froze in the fall and made pumpkin bread. It’s a recipe I developed years ago. But as I went to cream the butter, it suddenly came to me. It was good with a stick of butter, and there’s nothing in this world that increasing the butter by another 50% can’t make significantly better.
I think we should try increasing the butter in Betsy DeVos.