After the monster’s mash

I woke up, quite suddenly, a little after four this morning. I was tired, even weary, after the previous night’s disaster, but my brain was rushing through a billion thoughts that had nowhere to go. I tried, but couldn’t go back to sleep, so I got up around 5:30.

It will take days for me to process what’s happened, and some of that will be played out on this blog—I think. Among the many thoughts I had were ones of closing down this blog, my podcasts—all of it. I also thought about transforming this blog into something else, like maybe photos of flowers or something else that’s reasonably safe. 4am thoughts.

Because, like most people from my half of America, I don’t know what to do or say. How, precisely, does one react to the fact that an orange fascist with severe narcissistic personality disorder will now be running the land of one’s birth, and that he’ll be aided and abetted by a political party that wants to take away my human rights?

Last night, the only way I could think to describe how I felt was that it was similar to how I felt when my parents died, because it felt like the land of my birth had just died. It feels very personal, for a whole lot of reasons, very few of which can legitimately be described as “political”, though many have to do with my values.

The closest political comparison I can make is 1980: I was devastated when Saint Ronald Reagan (hallowed be His name) won, but it was actually less about him than all the radical nutjobs he brought into Congress with him. But this time, all the radical nutjobs aren’t just in Congress, they control it, and the fascist demagogue who will occupy the White House will help make those radicals’ every wet dream of religious-based authoritarian control come true—very unlike 1980.

So, the America we knew and loved died last night—committed suicide, really. Those of us who opposed the Orange Menace have found out that people we know, maybe even love, support and endorse Don’s racism, xenophobia, and pussy-grabbing contempt for women. Sure, many of those voters, perhaps even most, don’t think of themselves as bigots, despite making the odd fag joke, or complaining about Mexicans, or declaring “all lives matter”, but how can we possibly look at our fellow Americans without wondering which of them IS a bigot who secretly and quietly, until now, hates us and everything we stand for? How on earth can we EVER trust them again?!

I don’t know what to do or say, so for now, I’m stepping back a bit. Last night I decided to take some time off from Facebook. Seeing others’ pain, fear, and panic provided no comfort, as coming together in shared mourning usually does. Seeing the gloating comments of other folks—Right AND Left—was dangerous. Seeing Pollyanna-like declarations that “gosh, everything will be okay!” was decidedly unhelpful. Departure was the only safe solution.

My brain is still rushing through a billion thoughts that have nowhere to go, and maybe some of those will be sorted through on this blog. Maybe not. Right now, I’m mourning the death of a dearly loved family member, and that will take time to adjust to.