I was going to title this United States of America: Born July 4th 1776 / Died November 6th, 2024, but that sounds melodramatic.
Besides, we’re still here. Yet, fear paralyzes many people. I have seen dozens of posts from and about people who are now fearing for their lives or health. Women, the LGBTQ+ community, immigrants, seniors, the handicapped. Big Brother depends on his retirement benefits and Medicare. I depend on the medications I need to keep my bones from crumbling from the chemo and radiation, as well as the ones that keep my depression and anxiety controlled.
Sometimes I wished we’d never fought for our independence. Actually, according to Adam Conover (Adam Ruins Everything: Reanimated History), many of the people of the colonies were loyalists and didn’t give a shit about gaining independence from Great Britain. And I would have loved having that accent!
But we are here and now and…
I don’t know what to do. I think I’ll step aside and go back to keeping my opinions about politics to myself.
I’ve said I won’t vote anymore. What’s the point? The one percent will always get their way. Friends and fellow writers have asked me not to give up. That even though we didn’t win the day, it will be important next time. But who knows what will happen in four years?
I don’t want to be here for this. And if it becomes possible for me and Big Brother, we are both making a run for the nearest airport. Right now, I’m going to finish my wine and go to bed. And it’s very early. I really have no idea what else I can say. Except maybe we’re screwed. Oh, and I hate the Electoral College.
Good night,
Wendy
Author WA Simpson 