Donald Trump is a Psychopath

I have been listening to a podcast about a serial killer and they mentioned what makes a person a psychopath as opposed to someone who is psychotic.

I have been listening to a podcast about a serial killer and they mentioned what makes a person a psychopath as opposed to someone who is psychotic, suffering from delusional thoughts. The main thing is that psychopathy is not a mental illness. It is not something that can be controlled by medication, as is the case with true mental illness, specifically psychosis. A person suffering from psychosis does not have the mental capacity to understand that they are committing a murder, as an example. They are operating on delusional thinking, that when controlled by medication will disappear or at least moderate. Conversely, a psychopath is totally aware of what they are doing and lacks the empathy to even care. Not everyone who is a psychopath becomes a murderer, but I can bet that most people have someone in there sphere (neighbor, friend, family member) who fits the description of a psychopath, even if they have not murdered someone (as in an extreme case).

Here are the basic hallmarks of a psychopath:

  • Glibness/superficial charm
  • Grandiose sense ofself-worth
  • Need for stimulation/proneness toboredom
  • Pathological lying
  • Conning/manipulative
  • Lack of remorse orguilt
  • Shallow affect (i.e., reduced emotional responses)
  • Callous/lack of empathy
  • Poor behavioral controls
  • Lack of realistic, long-termgoals
  • Impulsivity
  • Irresponsibility
  • Failure to accept responsibility for one’s own actions

Does this list sound like a certain former President of the United States?

It is so amazing to me that the entire Republican party has been hijacked by a psychopath. We all know the reason: Because his base of neanderthal voters somehow have fallen under his spell and the Senators and Congressman want to get reelected. They do not care about what is right or the rule of law. They are willing to sell their souls  to the devil to get reelected. These people know better but by embracing Trump’s ignorant supporters, they come closer to the big prize, which is capturing the House and Senate and ultimately the presidency.  In 2016, when this con man was running for President, he famously said that he could shoot a person on 5th Avenue and he would get away with it. He was correct and he knew his audience. His supporters were willing to elect a con-artist, grifter, mafia like boss, terrible businessman, sexual assault perpetrator, and pathological liar, because they simply do not pay any attention. They have their minds made up and no matter what egregious things he does or says, he is forgiven. This is mob mentality. This person caused thousands of people to die of Covid due to his inability to take action, his initial denial of the seriousness of this pandemic, and refusal to tell people to wear masks. There are many people in the MAGA community that hang on his every word, as if he is some sort of god, who were duped into believing that the pandemic was some sort of HOAX and died in the hospitals alone and on ventilators.

This man is toxic and the sad part about it is that he still has many people fooled into thinking that he has the good of the country at heart, when in fact, he is the only one he thinks about. The country be damned if it means that it gets in the way of his blind ambition.

Unfortunately, he has snatched these unfortunate, ignorant believers’ minds who go willingly to slaughter.

Happy Birthday

My 70th Birthday is tomorrow—Yikes! How did that happen and where did the years go. In February 2021, when I was 68, I got breast CA.

My 70th Birthday is tomorrow—Yikes! How did that happen and where did the years go to?

In February 2021, when I was 68, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. After two surgeries—a lumpectomy and then a mastectomy, I finally started chemotherapy on April 20th.  Two days later was Janet’s 69th birthday. I was feeling OK despite having had my first chemo infusion two days earlier, so when Bill invited me to her birthday party I decided to go. All her kids were there (except John, who has no interaction with his father), and they had a cookout. I managed to eat a hot dog, hamburger, and salad. The whole time I was there, Janet sat in her living room rocker, bundled up in a blanket. She was always cold because she had no meat on her—she was skin and bones. Everybody kept asking, “Mom, come and eat” at which she waved her hand in disgust, as if we were offering her worms, so she never had one bite. I started to speak to her when I first got there, and she conspiratorially said to me that she couldn’t talk because Bill would hear her. I told her that Bill was outside cooking with two doors closed and she still said her famous, “He has big ears.” I asked if he had bionic hearing, and she didn’t answer me.

I was told that day that the stem-cell transplant done for her MDS had basically stopped working and she had developed leukemia. Bill was talking about getting her another stem-cell transplant and the kids and I looked at each other with a silent acknowledgement that this was a crazy idea: that putting her through that horrific regimen would be a total mistake, and for what?  She had severe dementia at this point and I’m not sure how she got it but apparently, she had been in a steady decline for several years, according to April.

Fast forward to July 2021: April told me that she was not doing well. At first, she was in the hospital and Bill, in his hope to prolong her waning life, was still almost force-feeding her. This caused a huge rift between the kids, especially April and Bill. April just wanted him to stop trying to keep her alive and just let her go and he refused, thinking (selfishly) that he just didn’t want to say goodbye. Finally, they got her in home hospice with a hospital bed for the living room and that is where she stayed until she passed. At first April told me that it would not be a good idea for me to visit her since she was sleeping most of the time, but one day she texted and said if I wanted to, I could come over to the house that day because she was somewhat awake. I went over and she actually recognized me which gave me some solace. She was in and out of consciousness at that point and the hospice nurse said it could be any time. We were essentially on death watch. I don’t know the exact date that she died, but it was around July 20st or so. But on July 23rd her funeral was held. I know this so well because it was the day before my birthday. At that point I didn’t mourn her the way I would’ve if she had died suddenly, because she had been slipping away from me gradually over a period of years.

So, today, July 23, 2022, is a whole year since her funeral. She never even made it to 70. We used to joke that we would be in a nursing home and still trying to sell houses (that thing we did for a few years, among others, when I moved here}.

Now here I am, alone—my two best friends, Janet and Jane, have left me. I am now on the cusp of my 70th birthday and I feel so lost without them. Jane died a few years before, of what I do not know. She had MS, a heart condition, and diabetes, and she wasn’t even that old. When she died, I was so upset and devastated because I had just spoken to her recently and she seemed like she was doing well. Her family had all but abandoned her and they never even had an autopsy done to determine the cause of death. I suspect it was a heart attack. But the building super got into the apartment when nobody had seen her for a few days and found her. She was only 63.

I feel like a survivor, having gone through so much in my 60s, namely the horrific spinal tumor on T3 of my spinal cord, which prevented me from walking properly, and had constant nerve pain, a partially paralyzed thin right leg, which was cold to the touch from the knee down, etc. It was a nightmare and lasted for 4 months until it was diagnosed and I had surgery. Luckily, the tumor was benign as meningiomas usually are. Then there was the recent cancer diagnosis, and everything related to that—and here I still am—Still Standing (as Elton John’s song goes). Then of course there was the constant trauma due to having a mentally ill adult child living in the street.

I have been stressed and depressed about the idea that I would be officially OLD as DIRT, but now that the day has almost arrived, it is OK. I have a sense of relief that I basically look the same as I did last year and haven’t changed much. I always thought that when you turned 70, you were officially OLD and turned into a pumpkin. Wow, how that has changed. I see people like Becky who will be 75 in August, and she is on the go travelling all the time. She has an amazing zest for life that I wish I had. I asked her how she felt to be in her 70s and she said she loves it. Conversely, Margie will be 70 in December, and she said it didn’t bother her at all.

As of this writing, things have gotten infinitely better: I finished chemo and am on drugs to just prevent recurrence. I am grateful that it was Stage 1 and not metastatic and we want to keep it that way. Joseph has a subsidized apartment now (although he still has crazy thinking), he is on meds, seeing a shrink and therapist, and sounds somewhat sane when I speak to him (but not always). David now speaks to his dad, and Joseph which is monumental.

Yes, hopefully this next part of my life will be easier with less problems. But life is life and there are no guarantees that things will go smoothly, but if I keep on trucking, going forward one day at a time, try not to get bogged down with the small things (which is not always easy), try not to compare and feel jealousy (which is sometimes my nemesis), I may find that I can get through and maybe just maybe be happy. Happiness is something I almost never feel, but every once in a while, it comes over me when I am outside on a sunny warm day walking in the morning. It is sudden and swift and surprises me. It’s as if a ray of sunshine has opened up in my soul and I can breathe for a little while. The trick is keeping that feeling for more than just a few minutes. Maybe this is the decade that I will finally find the elusive and lasting feeling of happiness for no special reason other than just being alive.

Fascism: Trump and Hillary

During the 2016 Presidential campaign, I knew the election of Donald Trump would be bad for this country, but I never really understood the long-term consequences.

During the 2016 Presidential campaign, I knew the election of Donald Trump would be bad for this country, but I never really understood the long-term consequences.

During the last 10 days of the election, Jim Comey decided in his infinite wisdom to call a press conference about, what else, Hillary Clinton’s infamous emails. He had already held a conference after reviewing the emails, stating that although it wasn’t the best decision, there would be no charges. When I compare the atrocities that Mr. Trump has inflicted on this country now, to Hillary using her personal email server for sensitive information, that was small potatoes–there is no real comparison. But on that fateful day, Mr. Comey, the grandstander that he was, jumped the gun and declared that he had found additional emails on her assistant’s laptop. I can remember how angry and betrayed I felt at the time and almost wrote her off–I actually considered not voting for her. But shortly afterwards, upon further investigation, he realized that those old emails that had already been discovered and were not new ones. He held yet another press conference to take back his false findings. Except guess what—the damage had already been done and almost nobody heard the retraction. All Trump supporters heard was that Hillary was crooked, as Trump referred to her. He always had and still has to create names for people and the Crooked Hillary moniker stuck.

Hillary was actually on target to win the election. The original Comey findings were far enough away and were fading from people’s memories especially since no charges were filed. He in essence gave a her a dressing down, but her campaign was gaining traction again. Then Comey put the final nail in the coffin and since most people never heard the retraction, they disregarded it and it made no difference.

I will never forgive Comey for single-handedly putting Trump in office. I realize that was not his intention at the time, and he was no fan of Trump, but his need for the limelight destroyed Hillary’s chances. That stupid and not thought-out decision to hold a press conference 10 days before Election Day was so consequential. If Trump had not won, democracy in his country would not be in the precarious state it is in now. If Hillary had won, Trump would not have been able to put three ultra-right wing conservative judges on the Supreme Court. These right-wing Justices have forever altered the landscape of this country by taking away rights that we thought were rock solid. By overturning Roe vs. Wade and the right to abortions, a constitutional right given to women almost 50 years ago, they opened up the flood gates for the removal of other rights we thought we had. What’s next—mark my words they will be gunning for removal of gay marriage, LGBTQ rights, and other’s. What about interracial marriage—I don’t think so because Clarence Thomas is married to a white woman. If overturning Roe was not bad enough, the intentional cruelty of not allowing any exceptions, is a low that I never thought SCOTUS would go to. What about rape, incest, life of the mother in danger—that is just off the table. With their ruling, it was all or nothing. The sad reality of this is if a 13 year old girl gets raped by a relative, she will be forced to carry that baby to term. She will have to either drop out of school, or go with a big belly and be subject to shame and ridicule. Her whole life will be forever ruined. This ruling is so damaging and dangerous to woman because abortions will not stop—they will just become more dangerous. We will now be returning to the days of DIY abortions with coat hangers, and strange concoctions taken to abort, or back-alley unsafe abortions which often result in sepsis.

This is just the beginning. This country has never been the same since Trump took office. Now there is book banning, and not being able to say the word “Gay” in schools. What’s next, book burning? Is this the United States or Nazi Germany? More and more rights are being rescinded by many states. I fear if the Democrats lose the House and Senate, we will lose our democracy. We are headed down the road to Fascism if we all don’t wake up and vote Democratic. But I fear we are too late and the pendulum is already swinging to the right and we may be at the point of no-return.

Little Bird

On my way back from my morning power walk, I saw a feathered creature in the road. There were no cars coming so I walked over to see.

Little Bird 

On my way back from my morning power walk, I saw a feathered creature in the road. There were no cars coming so I walked over and saw that it was a little bird struggling to get up. Every time he tried, he fell over on his back.

I decided I would try to save him so I tried to pick him up and at least get him out of the road before he got totally squashed by a car.  But every time I tried to pick him up he squirmed and fluttered away from me. But I was persistent and finally managed to hold this little guy in my hand. My intention was to bring him home, see if I could get him some nourishment, keep him warm, and take him to the vet the next day. I thought maybe he had a broken wing. I was only about 15 minutes away from getting home and started walking with him, noticing that he was moving his beak and was still alive. I had to hold him pretty firmly but not too tightly to keep him from fluttering away again. I knew he was still alive since I felt his little heart beating. However, suddenly, his head went limp with the rest of his body and I knew he was dead. That little innocent creature just died in my hands. At first I thought I had killed him by holding onto him too tightly, and I started to blame myself for his death. But, then I realized that I wasn’t squeezing him and he probably just died from other injuries that I didn’t see.

I knew that I had done the right thing by getting him out of the road. Maybe I should’ve just left him lying on the grass and let nature take its course, but I just couldn’t leave him to be eaten by scavengers or to rot away until only his feathers were left. So, I kept walking with his little body and I brought him home. I put him in a little plastic bag and decided I would bury him in my back patio area. By that time his little eyes had actually opened and he was stiff. I dug a hole big enough to fit him and said a prayer that God watch over him and that he be in Bird Heaven. Where else would he go since I’m sure he never committed any sins. He was just living his life when a car came along and ended it. Just a little innocent creature. But he will not be forgotten and I will always know that out back I have a sweet, precious, little bird, who never hurt anybody.

Happy Birthday in Heaven

Happy Birthday to my best friend in Heaven. She would’ve been 70 today. I think of her often, especially when I look around my house which has so many reminders of her.

Happy Birthday to my best friend in Heaven. She would’ve been 70 today. I think of her often, especially when I look around my house which has so many reminders of her. From the needle points, to photos, to gifts, and everything in-between. She was so crafty and an amazing carpenter–just a most talented person. Every day I am reminded of her when I go into my office where I have an actual desk she made for me. It would be impossible to go anywhere in my house without seeing Janet. I talk to her often and ask that she visit me in my dreams being careful to remind her not to appear at the foot of my bed lest I see her sooner than I was expecting. I have so many birthday cards and letters from when I was in camp (before texts and email). These are precious to me and I have saved them in a cardboard box. I sometimes pull them out and read them and I am immediately transported to a different time and place, where I reminisce and laugh about all the fun and crazy times we shared. I often find myself quoting Janet to other people because she was a very wise person. To say I miss her is an understatement. She was my “person” and I could call her and talk for hours about what was going on. Sometimes I’d call her for something serious but we ended up laughing hysterically about some inside joke. She was simply the best of the best and I loved her. I will see you again someday and it will seem like no time has passed at all.

Love your lifelong friend,

Marilyn

The Apartment on 11th Street

“I can’t wait to grow up” is what so many kids say. But most of them don’t plan to move out of their childhood home when they turn 18. But I did.

When I was a child, I looked forward to getting out of my house. On the surface things seemed OK but I hated living there. Yes, Stuyvesant Town on the lower Eastside of Manhattan was a great place to grow up with its rolling hills where I spent many a day skating, playing tops, running races, and playing skelly in the many playgrounds. But that was outside. Inside my house were things beyond my control.

I felt special that I was admitted to Art and Design high school where all the kids were artists, but when I would return home, there would be constant criticism from my father. A vague idea began to form in the back of my mind that I might be able to move out and I didn’t have to live like this.  But then I met my friend Verna who was also a student at that school.

Verna was half Japanese and both her and her sister went to Art and Design. I had never been to her apartment before but one day we got to talking. It was my senior year and I didn’t know what to do with my life. I was at a crossroads. My whole junior and senior years were about getting high on booze and weed (and other substances). I didn’t really care about my future but one thing was very clear to me—I wanted to move out of my house when I turned 18.  Verna ‘s family lived in a run-down railroad tenement on crime infested 11th Street and Avenue B in Manhattan.  Her father was the building super (superintendent). She mentioned to me that they had a vacant apartment and we might consider being roommates. It sounded like Nirvana to me so one cold Winter Saturday afternoon I went over to see it. All I could think of was total freedom. We sat in the living room and I felt so grown up and didn’t even think of the pitfalls—probably because Verna painted a rosy, but apocryphal picture for me.

At first glance all I could envision was having my own “room” and not having to answer to anyone. I could do whatever I wanted and not face constant criticism. I could smoke, drink, and do anything. I overlooked the flaws in the apartment which were many, most importantly that I would not even have a real room with any privacy since this was an old run-down Railroad apartment where one had to go straight through my room to get to the others. Railroad apartments were built in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, to conserve space, and were so named because they were similar to a railroad car, which would go straight through one compartment to another. In the South, they were called “shotgun houses.”

Coming from a “normal” apartment in a good neighborhood, it was kind of a shock. Of course, it was a walk-up and there were basically no windows except in the living room where there was a fire escape.  You had to enter through the kitchen first, which contained a bathtub replete with “feet”, a tiny gas stove and oven, and a lovely “water closet” containing a toilet with a hanging water tank and a chain to flush. However, instead of running for the hills, I embraced the romance of living like a Bohemian. I was an artist, after all, and I a reveled in the idea of setting up my easel in my room of sorts. So, despite my initial reservations, I decided to move out of my parents’ apartment into this shithole which promised so much but turned into a nightmare.

Soon after moving in, I realized this wasn’t going to be the Utopia that I had hoped for. It became Party Central with mostly Verna’s friends in and out at all hours.  Even if the partying was in other rooms, it didn’t matter since there were no doors and one room simply led into the other room. There was constant comings and goings with noise so I couldn’t really sleep.

I was a “lucky” or sheltered child it seemed compared to some of my other school friends I grew up with who often lived in the tenements surrounding Stuyvesant Town.  I never even knew what a roach was until I saw one in my desk one day at school.  Apparently, I didn’t see any roaches on that cold, fateful day I made the choice to live in that run-down apartment. But that soon changed after I moved in. Roaches usually don’t come out much during the daytime or in the light. I discovered this when I would climb the steps, open the many locks we had on our door, come into the kitchen and turn on the light, only to see dozens of roaches on the wall, scattering into the dark recesses of the nooks and crannies of the kitchen.  I had to move my bed away from the walls at night so that roaches wouldn’t get on the covers.  This apparently didn’t seem to upset Verna who grew up in this building and was used to it.

Although her friends were a bother I would often party along with them. Our parties which would start early on Saturday and go into Sunday, were legendary and I would invite everyone.  Some of Verna’s friends were pretty unsavory, but the higher I got, the less I cared. It all became a haze of booze, drugs, sex–anything went. I watched with apparent indifference at best as one guy proceeded to shoot up in the kitchen, being more curious than shocked when a spirt of blood came out when the needle went in. I thought, “Oh, so that’s what it looks like to shoot up.”

I could go on and on, recounting story after story of behavior that I would find abhorrent today but considered normal then. But after about 9 months of the living in the Roach Motel, I made the decision to move back to my parents’ apartment.  I was going there anyway to take showers because I couldn’t bear using that antiquated bathtub in the kitchen. Although I felt like a failure, I was relieved. But soon afterwards, I married my first husband, seeing him as my way into respectability–my savior.

After I moved away, I got married, had children, lived a life, and never looked back. I never even kept in touch with Verna. She wasn’t even invited to my wedding. It’s as if I wanted to simply banish that shameful part of my life.

But every so often, with no provocation, I dream that I am still living in some version of a run-down Railroad flat. In the dream, I am distraught, but I always get a feeling of acceptance. Then I wake up and for a few seconds, think that I am back there, only to realize I am safely ensconced in my own bed.  Although it was a crazy time in my life and I would never want to revisit it, I would not be who I am today if I didn’t live it.

One Second from Disaster

Why is it that some people seem to live a charmed life.  Nothing bad ever happens to them—they sail through life with nothing major going wrong.

Why is it that some people seem to live a charmed life.  Nothing bad ever happens to them—they sail through life with nothing major going wrong. That is my one question—why?

I get up in the morning with a vague feeling of anxiety that almost never leaves me. I am not one to feel sorry for myself and hate being on the pity pot. Yet I feel jealous of women with their big cleavages and think about what if they got this damn disease. How about all those women with their big manes of hair, so confident that nothing can touch them. Well, this fucking disease doesn’t care about that and this life is a mine field. You can be going along, all smug, posting your “best life” on Facebook, when suddenly your life as you know it comes to a screeching halt. That is how it is—we are all one second away from disaster.

When my friend Janet got the news that she had MDS (myelodysplastic syndrome) the disease which ultimately killed her, she called it the “train wreck.” That describes it exactly –a feeling of disbelief and confusion. Any faith that you thought you had is shaken. “How could this be?” you ask yourself, knowing that you are not invincible and the grim reaper has come to your doorstep.

Having had the big C 34 years ago, for some strange reason I felt that was it. I was sure that I would never get cancer ever again—that my turn had come and I came through it.  But that’s not the way things work in the world. So, I put my big girl brave face out there and made it my mission to fight this. I was determined to remain positive and I actually did. On the days I had an infusion for 3 hours I actually was in good spirits. I tried to analyze why that was so and I can only surmise that I felt cared for and loved. My friend would come over, bring me lunch, and we would chat. I guess you would say I did not suffer from many chemo side effects so I was lucky (or blessed depending upon where you come from).

I counted down the chemo cycles (I had 6) and posted pictures of me getting the infusion. People responded and I felt loved again. But a strange thing happened after the last cycle—I felt let down and depressed. One would think I would feel wonderful and relieved but I was just the opposite. I didn’t know what to do with myself and I simply felt abandoned. I was no longer special and my purpose in life, which turned out to be just getting through the chemo, was gone. I felt that I lost my purpose. I have been struggling to get that back and I am having a hard time. People don’t understand how I feel—they think I should be happy, happy, and grateful. I am grateful it is over but I am left with the residual fear of having this return. I think crazy thoughts and get into my own head that I somehow have metastatic cancer and I will surely die of this. I have a mammogram next month and my head tells me that I have cancer in the other breast now.  I speak to other cancer survivors and many of them feel like me, so maybe I’m not unique, but I still can’t shake these feelings.

Logically, I know that we must “live in the day” and not the past or future because you miss the beauty of the moment. Yet I catch myself thinking about 10 years down the road sometimes and it is frightening. I engage in the “what ifs” which only increases my anxiety because the future is fraught with those nasty mine fields.

I know this is not exactly a very inspirational piece but this is how I feel. I have kept this inside of myself and whenever someone asks me how I feel, I simply say, “Fine” or “OK” when I really want to say, “I am fucking depressed and anxious”. But nobody wants to hear that—all they want to hear is that you are good so they can feel good too.

Janet – A Tribute

Monday morning my best friend, Janet, passed away in her home.  I had the great privilege of calling Janet my friend since we were 6 years old.

 

Monday morning my best friend, Janet, passed away in her home.  I had the great privilege of calling Janet my friend since we were 6 years old.  She was my best friend, my confidante, and I guess you would call her “My Person.” She was always there for me and always willing to lend an ear. We could spend two hours on the phone talking about everything and later the next day, do it again. There was never any judgement on her part and no matter what I told her she would put a positive spin on it.  She was simply a joyful person and an optimist.

Janet was also the most genuine human being with the best sense of humor you could ever know. I think that’s what drew me to her when we were kids. She used to say she had a “warped sense of humor” but then I guess I did too because we just “got each other.”  It was more like a dry sense of humor that not everyone understood.  I could just get on the phone and, in the midst of bad news, we’d end up laughing about on old inside joke. We had many of them from when we were children to the more recent situations which we would find hilarious.  Even in her waning moments, her humor came out when a nurse asked her name for the umpteenth time, she got annoyed and said her name was “Joe Schmo.” But that was her to a tee. That was just so Janet.

Janet also was amazingly crafty as evidenced by all the needle points in my house as well as an actual desk that she built. She was an amazing seamstress that even made all the bridesmaid dresses for her daughter’s wedding.  The picture on top of this post show just a few of the Boyds Bears she gave me for my birthdays. I will treasure “Janet’s Bears” as I call them.

Before Janet moved to Georgia, she lived in Orangeburg (upstate NY) not far from where I lived in NJ, and we spent many fun times with her family and my kids. When I moved here 18 years ago, I was basically adopted by her family so some of my best memories are Thanksgiving and Christmas when she would stay up to dawn sometimes getting ready baking last minute cakes and cookies. She was most famous for her cheesecakes. I guess you could call her the cheesecake queen.

Growing up in Stuyvesant Town we both had many of the same friends, but I must say I never kept in touch. But Janet kept in touch with many of them. She was such a sweet and caring person that she even went up twice to Manhattan to support her friend Peggy in her cancer battle—that last time when she herself was not even well.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention this last thing: Janet was not known for her promptness, but we all accepted it. I remember once when she was at least 30 minutes late picking me up for the airport, I frantically told her I would miss my flight, and she said, in her calm and optimistic way said, “Don’t worry, we’ll make it.” And we did. Every time she was late, she just knew we would make it on time.

But no matter what I write here, there are just not enough words to express how much I loved and respected Janet. There will never be another person like her and no matter how many friends I may have now or in the future she is irreplaceable. I love you Jet.  Come to me in my dreams soon—I’ll be waiting. Godspeed.

Love your best friend M

Inauguration Day 2021

I watched the Inauguration of Joe Biden yesterday and was emotional. For the first time in 4 years, I actually had a feeling of hopefulness rather than hopelessness.

I watched the Inauguration of Joe Biden yesterday and was emotional. For the first time in 4 years, I actually had a feeling of hopefulness rather than hopelessness. I was literally breathless during the swearing in ceremonies of Biden and Harris. I had hope again in our country, in this administration, in our leaders at the top. This does not mean that we are out of the woods by any means—we will still have the white supremacists committing violent acts or at least trying to. The one who shall not be named will still be an inciter but at least he won’t be the inciter in chief. We won’t have to listen to his incessant lies and rhetoric each day and know that many brain-washed people in our country believe it. It was such a pleasure to turn on the TV this morning and not see his face, spewing forth falsehoods, insisting—like a petulant 5-year-old–that he “won the election, big!” Yesterday, they happened to play a clip for Trump’s final farewell speech and I literally had to mute it.

After 4 years of this horror show, I have PTSD. I think the reason I cried during the Inauguration was that I realized that I don’t have to hold my breath anymore. I never really realized that I had been holding my breath for 4 years until I was able to let it out. I watched The View this morning and Whoopie actually said exactly what I am saying here. Each morning I would turn on the TV with trepidation and think, “What has he done today to undermine the United States. What has he tweeted about today to enflame his so called “base”? Then I would see almost every day there was a crisis of his making or that he somehow sided with Putin on almost everything. His Russian buddy, Putin, could do anything and Trump would never say a word or just outright deny that he was to blame. Whatever it was, I was angry every day and couldn’t get past it. I could never fathom why this guy and his grifter family got away with everything.

It is such a relief to see competence being restored to the White House. Biden’s cabinet picks are not just white men, they are a cross section of what this country actually looks like—white, black, Asian, Latino, American Indian, Indian, etc. And these are competent people and not just the sycophants Trump installed because of their loyalty to him. It is amazing how we will have an Attorney General (Merrick Garland) who is America’s lawyer not just the personal lawyer to the president. It will be amazing to see that our new President will not interfere with the DOJ. It will be amazing to have a President who does not lead by Tweet.

There are too many atrocities that have been committed by the worst and most corrupt President and administration in history to name–I would be writing forever. In spite of that, he could’ve gotten out with at least a little bit of dignity. But instead, he had to invent “The Big Lie” and spread it far and wide, gaining political traction within the Republican party. They knew better that Biden won fair and square, but their political aspirations came before country and shame on them for that. This guy’s refusal to accept defeat, instead trying to disenfranchise millions of voters in mostly black communities, was so egregious and shows what a racist and small, petty man he is. Not once did he ever express empathy for the 400 thousand people who have died thus far from this Covid-19 pandemic. Instead, he pretended that it was a hoax, and told people not to wear masks, resulting in more deaths than there should have been. His response to the pandemic was enough to get him impeached or at least “impeached” in the eyes of God. Rest assured he will never see Heaven when he dies, he will shoot straight down to Hell where he will be sharing a cell with his evil counterpart, Hitler.

However, the worst thing he did was to incite an insurrection at the Capitol, trying to overthrow the government and prevent the Electoral College votes from being counted and certified on January 6th.  Now he will go down in history as the only President to be impeached twice—this last one with seven days to go. How sad—and even if he somehow gets away with it in the Senate, it is still on his record forever. All our allies are over the moon about this wannabe dictator finally being out of office. Biden will rejoin the Paris climate accords, rejoin the WHO, roll back the Muslim ban, and stop that ridiculous “Wall” which was promised but never really delivered. He will hopefully make the vaccine rollout move faster and mourn with us during our time of sorrow.

Oh yes, yesterday was a wonderful day. Just to see him board a plane and slither off to Florida, was uplifting beyond belief. I pray that he never regains any sort of political control again and that he never receives intelligence briefings, as some other former Presidents do. I pray that our new President and VP will be safe. I pray that this red blot in our Country’s history will never be repeated and that we learn from this. But alas, it must be one day at a time. I am not so much a Poly Anna that I believe that it will be smooth sailing because it took four years to almost ruin democracy and so it will take a while to fix it. Our country will never be the same again, but hopefully, we will rise up and become the great nation that we still can be.

Last Stand

I peer out a crack in the wall and see the grisly, salivating maw of the German Shepard on the leash of his handler searching for us, waiting to tear us to pieces.

I peer out a crack in the wall and see the grisly, salivating maw of the German Shepard on the leash of his handler searching for us, waiting to tear us to pieces.

I have been in hiding in this bunker for 60 days now with a number of others. We are starting to run low on food and supplies. We are being hunted relentlessly on the orders of the Supreme Commander in Chief, who has decreed that all subversives be rounded up and imprisoned and if they resist, killed on the spot. This includes political opponents as well as all Democrats in Congress. Having gone through the voting records of citizens, the TAF (Trump Allied Forces) are conducting door-to-door searches for people who voted for the other side.

Some people saw the signs that this democratic government would fall, but others could not face reality. They insisted that “this was their country too” and would stand and fight. But, for many it was too late and they could no longer escape.

The lucky or smart ones escaped to other countries, but the unlucky ones or those in denial had no choice but to either be rounded up and jailed or go into hiding. I am one of those unlucky ones who watched as the democratic nation I loved became increasingly unstable but stood by in disbelief as one institution after another fell until we faced an autocracy ruled by a strong man.

I am now ensconced in a secret underground bunker, making do with whatever medieval supplies we could pilfer from old warehouses. We watched as the political storm became increasingly volatile knowing that we would reach a point of no return, where it was either sit by or take action. We have been preparing for a “doomsday” for a year now, stockpiling supplies and weapons, hoping we would never need these. A network of secret communication was created so if and when the day came, we would be ready, and when it came we said, “Now.”

So we fled with our lives, and some of our meager possessions, hoping we would not be betrayed by any TAF spies who might’ve infiltrated our group.

We each had our assigned role, and mine was to keep watch on the outside world through that crack in the wall. So today I have climbed up to the top of the bunker where I can peer out at the horror of what has become of the United States of America.

Each day our small TV shows the good and dissenting citizens being rounded up and shot, or jailed in deplorable conditions. We watch as the U.S. rule of law and Constitution is being destroyed.

How did this happen? How did we come to this? Looking back I remember being told over and over that the American People are smart and would not elect a charlatan and con man, but it happened. How could people continue to support him even after a damning report came out detailing all the lies and criminal activities he was engaged in and still is?  But the report was ignored and the majority of the people fell under his spell. They were already anchored, and just as human nature is, refused to admit they were wrong. They gradually let it happen, with the help of his minions and sycophants in Congress, the Russian bots, and Trump News. They were mesmerized and no matter all the warnings, believed all the lies. The American people were duped and now here we are, just a few pockets of dissenters left in this country to carry on some day.

But we have a new leader who has been gaining ground and each night we sneak out and flood the streets with flyers. So, I have hope in the goodness of humankind and that people will rise up against this evil regime. I must pray that we are not too late and believe with my soul that we will prevail in the end.