I’ll admit it: Things have been a little bit boring in my life since I’ve popped out two kids, gotten a corporate job, and moved to the ‘burbs.
And as much as it pains me to say (and as much as I don’t feel like I am), I’ve become a pretty staid middle-aged person. I volunteer at my kids’ day care; I go to Yoga; I drive a Volvo station wagon to an office park every day; I hit the sack at 9:30; I post healthy, kid-friendly recipes on social media; I wear clogs.
Basically, I’m really owning being a sleepy, comfortable middle-aged mom.
But then Donald Trump happened.
And now I’m being consumed with a fire and energy I thought I lost a long time ago.
What I’m feeling is like a crush (remember those?) but instead of trying to figure out how to make a boy like me, I’m trying to figure out how to bring about his humiliating downfall. I’m consumed. I’m obsessed.
This morning, I spent about an hour thinking about setting up a Twitter bot that would just spam him all the time with “hurtful” tweets such as, “Your inauguration was a terrible party.” “If you lose the popular vote, it means someone is more popular than you.” “Donald is a weird name if you think about it. Think about it.” “So many people don’t like you — around 4.5 million of them — that they gave up a Saturday to tell you that.”
I devour every article I can. I watch press briefings. I have put my Congressman’s office numbers on my phone and spend my lunch breaks calling them. I know the names of my US and State senators. This weekend, I’m taking the kids to an event to write letters to Congress so they can make sure they know this is NOT OKAY.
I feel like I’m getting focused for the fight of my life. This is my ultimate exercise montage (vocals courtesy of Tori Amos). Picture me downing spinach smoothies, donning a sweatband, doing leg squats. Picture me running up the steps of the Philadelphia Art Museum, Rocky-style, with a baby strapped to my chest.
I am effervescent with purpose and drive.
I write. I read. I record. I support. I talk.
I am ready.
A friend texted me the other day: “I think I am sabotaging all of my new mom friendships with my angry Trump posts.”
I responded: “I think I’m sabotaging my career and family relationships. But honestly, I cannot help myself. There is currently a force within me that is taking taking over.”
If you would have told me two years ago that I would be reading my children books about Hillary Clinton before bedtime, I would have laughed in your face. Because, honestly, if she would have run against Circa-Universal-Health Care-in-Massachusetts-Mitt Romney, I probably would have voted for Romney.
When all this started, I was not a “rah-rah” Hillary fan.
But to witness what she went through? How gleeful an entire political party was at destroying someone who dared to be an ambitious woman? How people said they voted for “the lesser of two evils” as though they didn’t understand what “lesser” or “evil” meant*? How people endorsed a mentally incompetent person over a serious, smart, hard-working, knowledgeable woman? How American women fell in line behind their Hillary-hating husbands and boyfriends instead of saying “Wait a minute…”? How people didn’t care who became President as long as it wasn’t her.
So now? Now, I’m ready. Now, I’m going to make a fucking shrine to her in my living room and fucking light a candle to her every day (metaphorically, of course). I’m framing her fucking picture and putting up in our house (again, metaphorically, as I don’t even have pictures of my children in my house).
What I am going to do is carry around this incredible injustice for as long as I live. I am going to fight for all women. Because yes, she was flawed. But if you think you couldn’t vote for her because of her e-mails and not because of some kind of crazy patriarchal bullshit that STILL defines our country, then you are mistaken.
So, thank you, Donald Trump, for showing me our work isn’t done. That we’re still considered lesser citizens. That people still think we can’t be trusted to run things (besides a household, of course). Because nothing fuels a fire like anger. And boy, are we angry.
Let’s go, ladies.
*This isn’t mine. I saw it on a comment on one of the 1,560 news articles I read this week about the Donald Trump Presidency.