I’m sad. And I hate feeling sad. I’m much more comfortable with the sweet sensation of rage. I’m told that contentment is also a nice feeling but I don’t think that emotion fits me well. Like hats. I wish I could be content and strut around in a cool fedora but that’s just not me. So in the midst of this hangover of disappointment I received the following letter from my mom. She’s one of the smartest people I know and it made me feel a little better. Maybe it will help you, too. Maybe she can be your mom for today. Or if you want to take her in at Christmas so I can travel that would be great, too. Anyway here’s the letter. (Warning: She calls me “Dan.” I don’t know why.)
Last night I was devastated. This morning I was numb, but, now, I’m actually relieved.No more worrying about defending my candidates policies, or wondering when she’ll be impeached, or witnessing the calculated gridlock.
The American public wanted change and lack of gridlock. And, now, they are going to certainly get what they wanted.
All we, who voted with our consciences and our patriotism and our love for our fellow man, will just sit back and observe. Our participation for the next four years is over.
It’s all on them now. They have the congress, the senate, the presidency and certainly will have the supreme court. Let’s see what they can do. No more excuses, or side investigations or innuendos or phony attacks.
We can, more or less, live in our cocoons. It’s not that we can’t be affected, but, we are far more insulated than the red hatted ones who voted for him like lemmings marching off a cliff.
And for those that didn’t vote, or voted for a third candidate, they will get what they so readily deserve.
Sometimes, it really has to get to rock bottom before the healing can begin. This election has put us there.
The fun has just begun.
See? I told you she’s smart. And I don’t take this as advice to do nothing. We most certainly have to fight harder than ever. But it’s in their court now. Go ahead. Follow Obama. Best of luck. We’ll see you in 2 years.