A Writer Dreams of a Post-Trump World…
© FINDEEP / DepositphotosIt seems so long ago now, but I remember a time when I almost never thought about Donald Trump.
When he was just the host of some dumb TV show where he fired people for fame and glory and sometimes for charity; when he was just some random billionaire who had printed his name in gold on a bunch of tall buildings in New York, but otherwise harmless.
A lot has changed since then and somehow Donald Trump has managed to slink his way to the top of our news headlines every single day. It doesn’t matter what he says – we read about him, and as a writer I have to write about him, even though I truly despise the man and would presently rank him somewhere between Caligula and Attila the Hun in a list of Just The Worst Possible Guys of All Time. Ever.
Even when I think that I’m sitting down to write an article about poisoning children with Halloween candy or the Booger Eating Champion of Pipestone, Minnesota, my fingers gravitate to those letters that spell out the name of the Root of All Evil and the Leader of the GOP…
D O N A L D T R U M P
It’s like my keyboard has transformed into a Ouija board and I’m just another conduit out of which random content about Donald Trump pours into our world, flooding our consciousness and eroding away the very fibers of our being with locker room language from another dimension and creepy winks that are likely capable of giving you the clap.
Late, late at night, after my children have all gone to sleep and the house is perfectly silent, I sit staring at this blinking cursor, fantasizing about an article, a blog post, hell – even a simple tweet, that speaks of colorblind owls or Santa Claus being an alcoholic once more, without any mention of He Who Shall Not NOT Be Named whatsoever…
I dream of this fantastical time of free creative expression, unburdened by the pressures of the worst human being ever potentially being elected to the most important political office in the land. In this world the sun shines a little more brightly, and the children are welcome to frolic in the streets without fear of overhearing whatever the scary, orange man is being mean about today.
Neighbors are friendly to one another, or at least not boisterously racist, and even the 4s and the 5s feel comfortable in their own skin as they co-exist among the 9s and the 10s in harmony.
Feeling my fingers curl in resistance as the calendar still looms forward towards Election Day … whenever it actually is … I know that his thorny, grasp of reality denial is one which we must endure for a while longer, but with the kindness of voters across this great country, in just a few short weeks writers like myself could one day experience that freedom once again that we haven’t felt since June 16, 2015.
Together we can make America great again … by collectively not typing the words Donald Trump into our columns and status updates and PornHub searches ever again.
And that’s change I can believe in…
