I just realized that this won’t show up on Facebook when I’m done writing. I won’t post it on the Erma Bombeck Writers Workshop site (not many people pay attention there, anyway) or to betterafter50 or to the National Society of Newspaper Columnists site.
If you see this, it’s because you chose to follow my blog. If you read it, you not only follow my blog but also clicked onto the link to see what I had to say. To you, I am extremely grateful. Thank you. You’re going to love what I have to say – or hate it. On which side of the fence are you firmly planted?
So here’s the deal with Facebook. Not long ago I wrote about how we would need to give our president-elect a chance. I posted it here a few days before the election when, to be brutally honest, I thought Hillary would win and the voters who backed Trump would have to suck it up and give her a chance.
I’m not ashamed to admit that I cried that Wednesday morning when I opened up my laptop to discover that Donald Trump had won. It still upsets me, if not to tears, every single day. Now I’m the one who should “suck it up” and give him a chance. I’m trying. I truly am. I clutch at every positive word he speaks and think – there! He’s not so bad! There’s hope!
But for every seemingly wise or conciliatory comment he makes, he jumps erratically in some other disturbing direction – multiple times. Bring a white supremacist into the White House as an adviser because he’s “really a good guy?” Horrifying. Unfathomable. Put other ultraconservative people with little-to-no relevant experience into cabinet positions? Does shaking things up or “draining the swamp” work best by putting a randomly chosen woman (read: rich donor) in charge of the country’s education policies who has never attended a public school or sent her own children to public schools? Absolute folly. Why not make me Defense Secretary? It makes as much sense.
So, anyway, I thought that after the election I could go back to Facebook to laugh at memes of Christopher Walken, enjoy photos of my friends’ grandchildren, and chuckle at the antics of puppies and kittens, but . . . . Every day I am bombarded by the bizarre political antics of PEOTUS Trump. Every day there are posts about Muslim women wearing scarves being attacked in subways or of swastikas painted on the home of a mixed race couple.
There’s a bunch of nasty shit happening out there, folks.
The creepy bullies discovered that they could come out and play. They are comfortable in a country led by a man who believes that if he says anything with conviction, it doesn’t matter if it’s true. They learned that it’s okay to snarl and shout like a Nazi, only to back down if needed and wonder why others would take those words literally.
No one’s reading this. Just as well. Because if anyone dares to suggest I’m exaggerating or should “move on,” I’ll tell them to go fuck themselves. If you don’t see it now, you will later. We’re all going to have to pay for your choice. Your choice. Not mine. Crooked Hillary, my ass. She looks like Mother Teresa compared to this joker and if you don’t see it yet . . . well, you will.
So, obviously I’m angry. And I’m sick about this. Truly sick about it.
But I’m not going to rant about Trump on social media anymore. If you want to say, “Good!” say it to yourselves. Don’t you dare say it to me.
I want to go back to enjoying my friends and family for all the good things they represent, in spite of (in some cases) their politics. Hopefully, they will do the same with me.
I will try to become involved in some way with the Democratic Party, or better yet, with Democratic Socialists, if that becomes a viable option. I’ll put my money where my mouth is and support liberal candidates who want universal healthcare and respect women’s and LGBTQ rights. Politicians who aren’t afraid to stand toe-to-toe with the NRA for wise gun control that even most NRA members can agree to. Legislation to protect Medicare and Social Security for everyone who worked and put their hard-earned money into those programs our entire working lives. We really need to stop being intimidated by the loud mouths and money of the far right, folks. And Paul Ryan can kiss my fat, dimpled ass, by the way. Horrible man.
Oh, I could go on and on. I will be reading the news and seeing how I can help without wasting my time, blowing off steam on Facebook. I made a monthly pledge to support Planned Parenthood. I will sign up as a Muslim if a national registry is ever instituted. I believe Black Lives Matter and hope to have the courage to use my own white privilege to help the people of color in my world if I’m ever needed.
This is how I feel. This is who I am. But right now, I want to step away from the constant influx of upsetting information just for a little while. I want to calm myself and stop skating on what feels like a thin scab of ice barely covering a pond of molten fury. It might be too much to expect to be happy any time soon. And it’s going to take more than stepping away from Facebook for a while for this wound to heal. But I have to start somewhere.