Resuscitation

Resuscitation

Breathe.

C’mon. In for four, hold for four, out for four. In for four, hold for four, out for four.

I’m having to do this every damned day since the Tweeting Tyrannical Toddler with Tiny Hands was sworn in. Not that my anxiety hasn’t already been running at a record high but, yeah. The past few days have been crippling.

Those with abusive family members might recall the feeling–that waiting for the other shoe to drop, never knowing what will set them off, what the right answer is supposed to be. Just waiting for the eventual conniption fit that results in pain and humility.

I haven’t written anything for this blog in many moons. Mostly because I didn’t have much to say. Life, work, moves, the usual suspects, overtook everything like kudzu on a Mississippi hillside.

Now, I have to write.

Welcome to what I’ve taken to calling #Trumptopia.

I’m not writing this to offer up any great or insightful ideas. I don’t currently have any words of wisdom for dealing with the Orwellian or Rod Serling-esque world we suddenly find ourselves inhabiting. What I am doing is searching for my own way of dealing with the abject terror I find myself battling every day. Fear for myself and my wife, for our friends, for people of color, for immigrants, for the underinsured, for our veterans, our public lands, our wild spaces, our freedoms.

The first five days of #Trumptopia have done nothing to alleviate my worst fears. Quite the contrary. So, for myself, for my sanity, I will write whatever I damned well please. I will celebrate our 1st Amendment Rights by using them.

I will speak.

Image by Hayley Gilmore