November 4, 2024

The two people I would not want to be right now are Kamala Harris and Donald Trump. I do not deal well with anxiety, and the level of theirs must be astronomical. Kamala has done her best in an abbreviated period of time to save the American way of life. She might be anxious, but there is no need for self-incrimination, whatever the outcome. Trump, on the other hand, emerges as the thing he loathed and always was, a loser. His crimes sit at his front door waiting to devour him. 

I realize that my positiviry concerning Trump’s defeat is that he MUST be defeated, not that I have any special insight into outcomes. His victory is unthinkable among rational or humane beings. I suppose that doesn’t mean it won’t happen. One has faith. I know, the world being as it is, he will win. But I'll disbelieve until the last minute.

Felt better today: most of the body aches gone, need to sleep half of what it was yesterday. Managed to cook, and to garden, planting the last crocus and the last eight peonies of the never-ending succession I seem to have brought upon myself. Barring another forgotten delivery, the garden is complete for the winter. As I dug, a  mother played with her baby on the sidewalk across the street, the baby laughing one of those hard, irrepressible baby laughs that compel one to laugh along.