I couldn’t watch C-SPAN this week, I just can’t take any more. The first Comey hearing, I was riveted to the tv. Round two was just too much. Until the indictments come down, listening to people not talk about what they can’t talk about is maddening and pointless.
Yesterday I watched 217 privileged people vote to destroy the welfare of American families and then crack a beer to celebrate. I am beyond disgusted. I am enraged. Did they not notice that since the ACA, half as many American families filed bankruptcy? Or that at least 24 million people are projected to lose their health insurance. I’m likely one of them, as R is retiring and I will, for the first time in my adult life, not have an employer-based insurance plan. Great timing. This will hurt other members of my family even worse, possibly a death sentence. #ThanksGOP.
I am so sick of the “mason jar on the convenience store counter” as my neighbors’ only solution to getting insurance. I am terrified for my friend with young children who is fighting cancer right now, for another friend with a TBI, for yet another friend whose infant had cancer at three months and, while now cancer-free, will have #Trumpcare insurance premiums that will destroy her young family’s future. And outraged that in yesterday’s version of AHCA, rape is a pre-existing condition? What are we thinking? Every other first world country has figured this out, and we can’t? It’s a hard-headed, mean-spirited unwillingness to treat people with human dignity, and I’m sick of it. Mark my words, if the ruling party screws this up, and they will because they don’t have anything on the table that fixes the Obamacare problems, we will have #SinglePayer by 2021. If we can all survive that long.
Yesterday I made a political donation against the House Republicans who voted for this travesty. Then I went on a Twitter rant (if you don’t like my politics and want to see less of that, follow me on Facebook instead. I keep that to happy news and puppy pictures.) There wasn’t much more to do with the alternating rage-driven energy and despair I felt.
Three years, 8 months and 16 days until this nightmare can end. Unless the indictments come first, and then we are in a limbo. My carefully-curated Twitter feed talks about President Hatch, and if true, the chaos that will ensue as we test sections of the Constitution never before called upon to save our democracy, it’s going to be even more stressful. I am not willing to give up any more of the next 3 years, 8 months and 16 remaining days to these assclowns than I absolutely have to.
After the vote, I went to my mandolin lesson. I am an absolute adult beginner at learning music. We played about 2 choruses of a children’s song and talked about expressing emotion through music. We talked about the state of affairs. I came home and practiced for the first time in a while and made up my mind about some things.
No matter what happens, when this political nightmare is over, I am going to be 3 years, 8 months and 16 days older. I can’t devote all of it to politics. Despite my degree in political science, becoming a political operative is just not who I am. We don’t have enough money to buy off any politicians. I can do my little parts here and there, and it ain’t much in this deeply red state. But I absolutely refuse to be buffeted around any more by anxiety, anger and sadness at the mess they are making. We’ll just have to minimize it in 2018 and clean it up in 2021.
In the meantime, what can I do with 3 years, 8 months and 16 days? Plant a peach tree this week and it will probably bear fruit by then. If I learn a new song for the mandolin each week, that’s almost 200 songs I can’t play today. If I write #500words every day, that’s 677,500 words. That’s eight novels or more 22 Highway 89 books I could finish. And I will. Maybe not 22 more books, but something that benefits me, no matter what’s going on in the DC political sphere. That’s way outside my hula hoop, the area I have any hope to control and influence.
Here’s the challenge. We have to do three things: 1) stay alive and in good health, and that’s going to be hard enough without affordable insurance, 2) regular political actions to bring about changes we want to see and 3) in in the spirit that living well is the best revenge, do something for ourselves that shows we haven’t let the bastards get us down.
At the 2021 presidential inauguration, you will be 3 years, 8 months and 16 days older. If you start today, you’ll be that much better at something. Let’s not have it be something, anything better than just rage. What are you doing with the next 1355 days of your life?
For the record, word count: 830