Here’s hoping for a one termed shit stain on the body politick.
What’s two weeks compared to fourteen months of sobriety, four years of this terrible presidency, six years since I started at OpenDNS, which opened up a career path for me way beyond my expectations, eleven years since owning our own home in the Bay Area, thirteen and ten years since our daughters were born, nineteen years of happy marriage on balance, with a few bumps along the way, twenty seven years since moving to California in the first place, thirty five years since my childhood worldview was shaken and I moved from Berlin, WI to the Chicagoland area, and fifty years since I was born?
What’s two weeks - after having to endure the worst form of projection and shamefully divisive behavior, to the point where our kids are conditioned to believe the exact opposite of anything that comes out of that man’s mouth, not to mention his supporters on my side of the family from whom I’ve become estranged, probably for good - for these last four years?
If the pandemic has taught us anything, it’s to learn how to sit and wait, to slow down, to stop being in such a hurry to get from point a to point b. And though two weeks cannot go fast enough now, with the possibility that suspense may linger longer than two weeks - I hold out hope that there’s still a chance for us to straighten out the rudder and stabilize this shit - I mean ship. What’s another two weeks after thirty years of journal writing and seventeen years of blogging in this very space? Or four years of college along the way?