If you were someone who after stopping into this space last Friday, the 20th, sent me a note telling me you hoped I 'had gotten all that' out of my system, I'm still not sure what 'all that' you're talking about and since I have gone to all the trouble to continue the discussion, I guess the answer is nope.
With everything we as a nation should be turning our lonely eyes to you, Mr. President, to lead us on, what does the Trumpster go on about? The lyin' media and their misrepresentation of the size of the audience of attendees and adulators who were at his inauguration a week ago. Size matters more than I might have ever thought.
What a sad man (barely, in light of his temperament and his self-absorption) we have chosen, perhaps with a little help from our Volga Boatmen comrades in Moscow, to lead us (feels weird to type that and impossible to believe it; the leading part, I mean).
Last Friday I watched the curtain go up on a four-year long run of a "post-apocalyptic dystopian nightmare" brought to us by a man who 'says what he thinks' but seems to feel no obligation at all to ever think before he says anything. Those are NOT my words, but I enthusiastically endorse them.
The deeper into the swamp we trudge, the harder it will become to separate good from evil, lie from fact and foe from friend. In the logic of the age ushered in less than a week ago, it does not mean things are going from bad to worse but, rather, they are now doubleplusgood. Your attention please.