The Universe, in its infinite indifference or irony — I’m not sure which — decided that I should be visited by my Curse of Eve on the eve of the inauguration of Donald J Trump. It’s true. I got my “woman punishment” as Trump took office. Like a Grand Marnier hangover: it’s perfect.
I used to wonder about zombie apocalypse timelines, like in the Danny Boyle film 28 Days Later, or how long Rick was in a coma on The Walking Dead. I always cottoned to Max Brooks’ zombie apocalypse scenario in World War Z. The Z’s started in an isolated area, far off, spreading slowly by travellers or refugees, shipping and black market organs. For months it would be whispers and rumors, a few distorted reports, then isolated disturbances, then in the nearest city with an airport, the commuter train stop, the local hospital, and then they are breaking down your door.
I imagined an emergent global threat would takes months, even years to fully take hold. But, no, Danny Boyle was right. It took twenty-eight days.
Because here I am, once again, suffering my biology, and the world has spun out of control. Or, rather, was spun out of control. We are at a crisis. (*I can’t even keep this post updated with the news tonight.) The Republicans have paused on their much anticipated march towards eliminating health care for millions and making sure that women are less important than what their uteruses can do. Because we’ve gotten to a tipping point. McCain demands answers. Spicey and KelleyAnne can’t get their stories straight.They’re in the garden, grab your bat.
Michael Flynn was forced to resign. Just think about that. If Flynn, who has been with Trump since early in his campaign, was dealing dirty with the Russians (under the Logan Act) and lying about it to the Vice President and the FBI, who else was?
Seventeen US security agencies said our election was influenced by Russia and Russian intelligence. There’s the dossier, by Christopher Steele, mainly famous for the pee, under review by intelligence regarding Russian links to the Trump organization and the Russian ability to blackmail Trump. There was Paul Manafort and Carter Page. And now Flynn. (*Whoops, looked at my phone, now Stone. *Now “Trump aides in constant contact with senior Russian officials during campaign ” per CNN . *And now that headline is under scrutiny. *This will be outdated by posting, sorry.)
So what did Trump do? He kept the head of the FBI, Comey, whose midnight email may have cost Hillary the election, while the agency he heads investigates Russian influence of the election. Trump jangled a bunch of shiny objects in front of our faces to distract us. He fired Sally Yates, former acting Attorney General, not over opposition to the Muslim ban, but because she spoke up about Flynn. Every Executive Order, their timing, the tweet storms, all to keep us from the dawning revelation of the most horrifying possibility ever. The United States’ President and his Administration were put in office by the Russians.
Makes The Manchurian Candidate seem quaint.
As Trump tows the Russian line against China, our European allies, and Japan; he pushes our neighbors, friends and allies (including our Middle Eastern ones) away from us. All while Russia is seizing land in Ukraine, flying their war planes over Turkey, and supporting Assad. They seek to conquer the West by dividing and destabilizing it. We are alone. And who does Trump et al insist is the only man who can save us? Why Trump, of course.
So, here we are. Twenty-eight days later. Asking the Watergate question: What did the President know, and when did he know it? Our nation teeters on the edge of a Constitutional crisis — even Civil violence –Russians in the White House, some very unhappy Chinese with nukes, some Iranians with nukes, North Korea with nukes. And our nuclear codes in Trump’s hands.(*There is a Russian ship off the East Coast now.) My boyfriend and I talk about if only we can get two seasons in on our farm before things get too bad. We are grateful for our own water source, and a wood stove. I’m learning about medicinal herbs and local flora. We’re getting chickens, and thinking about what best to grow for trade. We have a good spot for a variety of hot peppers. But I’m thinking something you can distill would be more valuable.
I’m wondering if I’ve gone mad, except my friends and family express the same in skittish Messenger chats. “Buy powdered milk in bulk!” “Get your RXs filled on time, and save the extras!”
I used to care that a pair of shoes I wanted on Amazon dropped in price. I used to play games. I wrote mysteries and historical fiction and screenplays and journaled about movies and my favorite parts of Tolkien. I used to binge Netflix. I read Roman history for pleasure. I enjoyed the outdoors and fishing, camping and making fires to cook over. I liked using my machete, Killary, on the brush on our land. I enjoyed gardening. Now, I look at Amazon for seed prices. Suddenly basic Roman fortifications seem like valuable knowledge. I have no idea what’s on Netflix. The Walking Dead is my one cheer-up show. I have Pinterest boards about how much food we need to plant and of what, and even the flowers all need a purpose. I mark trees for selective felling. And all my girl scout stuff is now marked “survival skills.” Everything has changed, twenty-eight days later.
Please, my friends, Americans, everyone, do what you can to bring down Trump, and retain our Constitution. I don’t care how you voted or why. Bombs don’t discriminate. Love your country and resist Trump. The monsters are at the door. And we’ve all got a lot to lose.
I’m going to rename my monthly friend. It’s no longer The Curse. It’s now The Hope. As in: hoping for another twenty-eight days. I don’t know how many more like these I can take, or are even left.
This is JL, twenty-eight days later, signing off.
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