I had a weird dream overnight. My wife and I were in Ukraine, of all places, I guess on… vacation? This particular scene took place on a street where there were a couple of Russian troops causing quite a panic. I remember a group of Ukrainian students running for cover, I remember catching a glimpse, from a distance, of these invading troops, and fretting over if we’d get out of there alive.

I remember thinking, in the dream, that even in the midst of war, people were trying to carry on as if it was a normal day. Then I woke up and got to thinking that if there were only a couple of Russian troops, how could they wreak so much havoc? You’d think they would be mincemeat, sitting ducks.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to take from this, but I do think about what life must be like for residents of Kyiv and other places that are under constant threat of Russian bombardment. What an awful way to live—with the daily specter of violence fomented by a detached, anachronistic billionaire hundreds of miles away who, for some reason, feels empowered to make life miserable for people who just want to live their lives without interference and with a certain self-determination.

And here I am, sipping cold brew in my pjs on a quiet Saturday morning, listening to birds sing, ready to start breakfast. The contrast is striking, to say the least. Though, I suppose with Trump in office and mid-term elections around the corner, our day of reckoning is never that far away.

Daily writing prompt

What’s a promise you made to yourself that you’ve actually kept?

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I honestly can’t think of one. There are mundane things, like following through on a plan to mow the lawn or do laundry or tend to something that needs fixing.

Maybe the closest I come is maintaining this morning routine that’s been happening for nine years now– getting up early and writing. It started on a whim, as something to try, but now has become a habit, a routine, something I value.

I still consider it my time, still make the effort, but it seems I don’t need it as much as I used to when I was active as a pastor and my day was a bit more structured. Even the anticipation of that first sip of coffee is becoming less of a motivator as time goes on– I’ve been hitting the snooze button more than I used to, not getting up quite as early.

He’s not even a rebel without a cause. He’s just a bully who can’t take a hint. Imagine being so consumed by vengeance and winning that you’ll gladly take a whole country down with you as you act on these impulses.

He’s fed everyone a line for most of his life. Many labels and diagnoses have been offered regarding what ails him. Some still worship him as a successful businessman and great politician, even a gift from God, but most of us know better and have been skeptical from the beginning, even if at first we might have held out for a diamond in the rough.

Our skepticism, while borne out, has also morphed into our own descent toward irrational hatred, because we view him as repugnant and have always found it difficult to believe there would be enough takers to twice hand him the presidency. But all this distaste and disgust mean nothing if we can’t follow through and vote the bastards out in November.

He won’t go right away, since the cleansing process must begin with his underlings. But eventually it’ll come down to him, and he won’t go willingly. It’s clear he doesn’t want to leave, and the poison he has stirred will sustain his base for a time.

Things could get ugly, but I have to believe there are way more of us than there are of them, and it is now our turn to do our part in bending the moral arc of the universe toward justice.

Time to pile on and add my thoughts on Donald Trump’s behavior at the World Cup final, as Spain was ready to hoist the trophy and celebrate a true team effort.

Donald wouldn’t get off the stage.

Of course he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He may have been confused, but it’s more likely that he felt that this grand occasion needed his presence, though not quite as much as he needed to stand there and share the spotlight.

What a sad, pathetic man.

Thanks, DJT. You never stop providing fodder.

Tornadoes outside NYC yesterday. What a crazy scene! That’s a rare occurrence, but maybe less rare as time goes on?

We were Zooming yesterday with relatives in the upper Midwest and got talking about the AQI (air quality index) last week, as smoke poured out of the fires in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area and Ontario. There was one day, in Duluth, MN, when the AQI was 1000. By comparison, it was 200-something here in northeastern PA, and we were being advised to wear a mask or just stay inside.

According to Trump, it’s Canada’s fault, so it’s higher tariffs for them.

What an idiot.

I read recently that the number of possible arrangements of starting cards in the basic format for Solitaire is 8×10 to the 67^th, which exceeds the number of atoms that make up the known universe.

The number of words spoken in opposition to Donald Trump and a certain brand of Republicanism has to be more than that by now. But to what avail?

It’s getting increasingly difficult to watch any late-night program that has a live studio audience. They must be coached or encouraged to whoop and holler and scream high-pitched “woos!” at the drop of a hat, and it’s getting ridiculous.

It feels contrived, it’s grating and over-the-top. The exuberance often doesn’t match what was just announced, or what someone said in the course of an interview. It often seems like a shouting contest, and it cheapens the product. But I guess this is the new acceptable standard for audience participation?

Same goes for America’s Got Talent or any of those shows. I have to believe that, to one extent or another, the audience is coached to react with unrealistic fervor. In any event, it seems an exaggerated response, and just plain too much.

Very few of them have a healthy sense of humor. This should be our first hint that something is off. They speak as if they’re often offended, unsure of what they’re saying. They often seem like they’re on the defensive.

They appear to have short fuses. They respond to questions as if just about every question is out-of-bounds, or an insult, or beneath them.  

They must be getting tired of wearing shoes that don’t fit, growing weary of serving a megalomaniacal, narcissistic moron. I’d like to think they wake up every morning and immediately put their heads in their hands and pray for the strength to make it through another day of fighting fires of their own making, perhaps even questioning the propriety of their “cause.”

The whole lot of them have drunk the Kool-Aid. They are masters of deception, they’ve lied to themselves and us, compromised themselves and chosen to support a person who has no interest in governing. They are an unnerving bunch of sycophantic impostors.

Obedient, and dead in the eyes.