(no subject)
3:36am. I'm awake, my heart is in my throat. I tell myself not to look at my phone, get up, go to the bathroom, get a drink of water.
When I come back to bed, I look at my phone, anyway. Sarah's messaged me several times after I went to bed: she's tormenting herself, watching the results. At 12:21am, she sent me "the fuck is this shit." And I know. I just know.
I thumb through facebook: The fuck. Unfuckingbelievable. I'm going to bed. I hope he's a better president than he is a person.
I search google -- election results. Trump, 57 million votes and some change. Hillary, 57 million votes and some less change. Nearly 90% of the country is red, in terms of electoral votes. How. Just -- how.
5:10am. I've made a valiant effort to go back to sleep, but I'm not sure that I have. Bob coughs; he has been in the morning but has been fine after he wakes up. He's awake, babbling to himself or to a fuzzy black cat, I'm not sure which. I don't move.
5:50am. Bob enters my room. He sees the cat, who has decided to settle on my legs. He turns on my light, sits on the edge of my bed, and doesn't say anything. I don't either and instead reach out for my son and place my hand on his back. Seven years old. In four, he'll be eleven. He's already so much more aware of the world. He's already more aware of others than I thought he might be, at his age.
And all I can think of is how Trump has mocked those with disabilities.
All I can think is how I'm bisexual; how I can just pass as heterosexual, if I need to. How I'm nonbinary, but pass as female and already prefer female pronouns or singular they.
All I can think of is Evelyn; how she can at least pass as a cis woman, after several years of HRT.
At some point, I close my eyes. All I can think is how fucked we are; how Bob's only seven and if Trump can't handle his temper --
5:56am, I pull Bob into my arms and cry.
When I come back to bed, I look at my phone, anyway. Sarah's messaged me several times after I went to bed: she's tormenting herself, watching the results. At 12:21am, she sent me "the fuck is this shit." And I know. I just know.
I thumb through facebook: The fuck. Unfuckingbelievable. I'm going to bed. I hope he's a better president than he is a person.
I search google -- election results. Trump, 57 million votes and some change. Hillary, 57 million votes and some less change. Nearly 90% of the country is red, in terms of electoral votes. How. Just -- how.
5:10am. I've made a valiant effort to go back to sleep, but I'm not sure that I have. Bob coughs; he has been in the morning but has been fine after he wakes up. He's awake, babbling to himself or to a fuzzy black cat, I'm not sure which. I don't move.
5:50am. Bob enters my room. He sees the cat, who has decided to settle on my legs. He turns on my light, sits on the edge of my bed, and doesn't say anything. I don't either and instead reach out for my son and place my hand on his back. Seven years old. In four, he'll be eleven. He's already so much more aware of the world. He's already more aware of others than I thought he might be, at his age.
And all I can think of is how Trump has mocked those with disabilities.
All I can think is how I'm bisexual; how I can just pass as heterosexual, if I need to. How I'm nonbinary, but pass as female and already prefer female pronouns or singular they.
All I can think of is Evelyn; how she can at least pass as a cis woman, after several years of HRT.
At some point, I close my eyes. All I can think is how fucked we are; how Bob's only seven and if Trump can't handle his temper --
5:56am, I pull Bob into my arms and cry.