Well. That happened. One week after my 34th birthday, Donald Trump was elected president. (At least it wasn’t on my birthday again, like the Gore/Bush tragedy.) I got shitfaced during election night. Cried and ate my feelings all day Wednesday. More of the same, but to a slightly lesser extent, Thursday.
Then yesterday I spent my usable hours (health woes still take up most of the day) making glittery happy day cards which, along with flowers, I put on a bunch of my neighbor’s windshields last night. Kindness ninja-ing helped. It always helps. (Me, anyway.)
Giving and helping, in whatever way I can manage always helps me to feel empowered. Like if I can cause a bright spot in someone else’s day then I’m not powerless; if I can help, then I’m powerful enough to get through whatever’s got me down.
I feel like I got hit by a truck though. Ooooh, where are you wisdom and insight? I thought if I started writing it might come through, the meaning in all this mess, the hope amongst the turds.
Last night a protester was shot here in Portland. The details are still being investigated, but it sounds like a Trump supporter was irritated about the traffic caused by the protests.
What the fucking fuck.
Ooooh oooh ooh here it comes–––if we can’t see the turds, then we can’t tend cleaning up. If hatred, misogyny, bigotry, and other forms of turdage aren’t seen, if they only passive-aggressively micro-aggression away, then they are pretty hard to confront. It’s too easy to call “sensitive”, to blame hurt on liberal PC nonsense, rather than the real turd–fear, and it’s wardrobe of turdy human actions and beliefs.
We need the turdage to stand up, to claim the stage, to feel like it’s safe to come out and revel in their close-mindedness.
Because it’s not.
Their only weapon is fear. All they’ve got are fingers that cry blame, that scream fault. Well, now you’ve finally been put into the position of power, you fear-mongering shits–what will you do with it? Who’s fault will it be now?
And we’ll rise to the challenge. We’ll meet their hatred with love, and where they crumble we’ll find that we’ve somehow become stronger.
And where they crumble, they’ll find that they’ve cracked open. (And if you’re reading this, you likely know what awesome happens when you crack open––TRUTH.) When they realize that their dream has come to fruition, but it isn’t anything like they hoped it’d be, they’ll be forced to choose a better way.