I Tawt I Taw a Puddy Tat

I’m done. Can’t take another day of this.

I have shown my empty absentee ballot to my American citizen witness, I have filled it out (as she looked elsewhere) and then stuffed it in an envelope and sealed it. I have got her to sign and date my witness statement which I then taped on the envelope. I then stuffed all this into a larger envelope and addressed it to the Election Commission in my district. (Full disclosure: it could be that I didn’t do those steps in exactly in that order . . . Voter Fraud! Voter Fraud!)

Tomorrow I will bring the letter to the post office and mail it.

And then I will unplug.

I won’t listen daily to Rachel or Chris or Joy (though I will miss Joy) or the NPR politics podcast.

For the next three weeks, I won’t hear any more of these phrases:

red meat

dog whistle

energizing the base

rigged system

hacked emails

Benghazi

believe me

crooked as a three dollar bill

locker room talk

p***y

lock her up

build a wall

lies! lies! lies!

disgusting

. . .

 

I simply can’t stand it anymore. (Good luck, Hill! And thank you!)

 

I have had experiences talking with abused women and men and children in the past. I suffered and empathized with them, but never really felt what they must have been feeling.

I feel it now. And it is frightening.

I feel like screaming at the Lock Her Up / Locker Room Talk party to stop scraping at the bottom of the barrel.  That there are some bases who shouldn’t be “energized” at all.  But who would hear me?

 

This election cycle has been debasing, humiliating, despicable, violating . . . As an American living abroad, I have only one friend with whom I can talk about it all. No one else really understands how it feels. And who else here would believe me? They’d think I should have known better. Their own history has taught them to be wary of the narcissistic buffoon.

 

Starting now and till November 9th, you can call me Tweety Bird.

I’ll be on my little swing in my exposed cage, my back turned to the predator, oblivious, nostalgically enjoying my fantasy of a more innocent time when America was great and loony tunes were confined to Sunday mornings.

I tawt I taw a puddy tat.

I did! I did tee a puddy tat!