Sunday, November 10, 2024

Like Pulling a Bandage off a Wound

 November 5, 2024

Third day of ague. Back to relentless napping. Bad night last night, caught between trying to breathe and trying not to shit the bed. 

Incredibly, a new carton of plants appears on the porch. I have the feeling that they are mostly meant to wait till spring. I’ll look it up.

The most horrific political night of my long life. I can’t picture any headlines which proclaim Harris as victor: it’s all TRUMP AGAIN and TRUMP SQUEAKS THROUGH.  My being able to picture things is not, thank God, the test of their probability. Part of me expects a Trump victory because a Harris victory would be so perfect, solve so many problems, dodge so many dangers, and the world does not allow escapes like that. At other times I repeat to myself the proposition that a Trump victory is unthinkable, and will not therefore happen. I won’t be listening to any news media for the next twenty-four hours. Better to awake and take it, like pulling the bandage off a wound.

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