It’s 2:28 a.m. again. I reach for my phone to read Heather Cox Richardson’s message, and the emotions return. “You don’t know what you have until it is gone,” repeats in my head. My life has been a cakewalk for the last six decades despite some challenges that would curl some people into a ball.
I have never paid much attention to national politics, but that changed in 2016. I enjoyed a brief respite in 2020, which ended in 2024, and now I am watching my country, my home, being obliterated.
I long for the day when the news is benign. Every day, a headline taunts me against my values. Lying is the new truth. But I am alone in my thinking. Friends and family members tout the deportations with glee and the tariffs with malaise. “Everything will get better” is an empty mantra.
I can’t sleep, and I eat and drink too much wine—basically, too much of everything. Each morning, I say, “I will do better,” then it repeats. At least for the near future, this is my new normal.
foursetsofeyes 