They came at us in formation, led by the USS Mar-a-Lago, with its distinctive orange sails, flanked by the USS Tesla Cyberyacht and the well-built USS SCOTUS, captained by The Dread Pirate Roberts, once stately and respected, but now proudly flying the Jolly Roger. And there, after a while, was the USS Congress, recently captured, struggled to keep up, falling further behind for every league sailed.
And here they are, boarding our ships, killing our people, desecrating our home on the sea. Taking whatever they want. And no allies on the horizon, sailing hell-for-leather to our rescue.
OK. That's where we are. It is a new world, like pirates coming over the horizon and trashing your ship. Say your prayers.
This blog is therapy. I'm trying to cope with the End of America. Since that horrifying experience on CNN on the morning of November 6, I haven't consumed news, analysis, or political anything. I know nothing. But it won't work. I just can't keep on going like this. Denial works only so long, and then you've got to get up and do something. This is my something.
Not my only something. I've started reading Heather Cox Richardson's daily newsletter. She's a historian, and each evening writes the history of the day. So it's history, not politics. Sure it is. History is politics, and politics – especially now – is history.
I've read somewhere recently that the “P” in PTSD is a misnomer. The trauma isn't in the past – it is very much in the present and, given this scurvy band of pirates, in the future as well. So we deal with the trauma as best we can because it's lurking in the shadows when we get up and when we go to sleep. If we're particularly unlucky, it's follows us into our dreams. It won't be over for a long time.
I promise that I'll wrap up about me soon. This is, or will be, a blog about the political history we're making right now, and what I'm thinking about it. Kind of like The New World, the first one. Turns out there was no new world. We won't be so lucky this time.
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