A big reason Trump isn’t gone already is because the economy continues to hum along. Rich and powerful people are happy, others are placated.

But doesn’t it feel like there’s a brick wall looming not far down the road?

Greta Thunberg has been named Time Magazine’s Person of the Year, and the President of the United States couldn’t bring himself to do the honorable thing and simply congratulate her.

He really is a douchebag. Right, Lindsey?

For this 200th post, it seems appropriate to linger a bit longer and mine the vein that is Donald Trump. I don’t know the reason for the fixation. Maybe it’s because I’ve never liked the guy and I’m just trying to work through this (still) visceral anger. That’s what us liberals do, right? We’re always trying to get in touch with our feelings. We’re just a bunch of fragile flowers who care too much about silly things like breathable air, drinkable water, a sustainable lifestyle, and Presidents who aren’t assholes.

In the evolutionary scheme of things, perhaps we pansy liberal Socialists are destined for extinction, because we don’t have that ruthless killer instinct like The Donald (does he even have it, really?).

Or maybe we just aren’t motivated by the same things. Trump and company will disagree and say at some level we’re all the same, but that’s only because they need us all to be the same. They can’t comprehend aspiring to some higher good that doesn’t involve self-enrichment and astonishing arrogance and flat affect, and using any means to achieve an end.

When it comes to the ways of the world, our liberal heads are in the clouds, always daydreaming and refusing to acknowledge how things really are.

What’s beyond frustrating at this point is that the supply of adjectives has been exhausted. Sometimes it seems like we have no weapons left. Well-placed critique and thoughtful counter-narrative mean nothing to Trump, unless he’s tweeting something inane. He seems to get better mileage out of his limited vocabulary. Our only hope may be that he has the emotional IQ of a 6-year old, which could do him in.

Short of outright rebellion, there’s not much left to us who find the last three years to be a total loss, and the prospect of another term totally unacceptable. So here’s to keeping on keeping on, and hoping someone can find a chink in his armor.

The animosity between parties since Trump took office is not your garden variety animosity. This feels different, more sinister, more elemental.

Rudy Giuliani has been in Ukraine on assignment, allegedly digging for evidence that would refute the accusations regarding quid pro quo, etc. This is never going to end. Or this chapter will end with Trump being acquitted by the Senate and benefiting from the backlash.

Meanwhile, sixty-six million of us will go on living in a twilight funk, feeling like something is definitely wrong and incredulous at so many not feeling the same way.

There will be no moment of awakening for many, no changes of heart. People know what they know and are sticking to it. Myself included.

Once the impeachment hearings end, Trump is going to be in hyper-revenge mode. So fasten your seat belts, ladies and gentlemen. Or find a place to hide. Because it’s gonna get loud and ugly and even more painful to watch, about as far from the shining city on a hill as we can be.

We ain’t seen nuthin’ yet.

Overcoming one’s fears is so cliche.

I’m weary of people dispensing advice as if it is gospel. Or law.

Do we really need another billionaire in the race for President? Did Michael Bloomberg’s kindred souls on Wall Street push him to run so they can improve their chances of avoiding an Elizabeth Warren candidacy?

Just what we need… another out-of-touch billionaire.

We’re so focused on beating Trump that we will settle the way the Republicans settled for Trump himself in their hysterical need to “cleanse” the office of a black Democrat. 

It’s not about the person with a vision and heart and actual smarts for the job. In this case, it’s more about finding someone who can take Trump down, no matter their qualifications.

Maybe qualifications don’t matter. Have they ever mattered? How perceptive and astute has the electorate ever been? Do we vote with our heads and hearts, or has it more often been about the pocketbook or someone’s charisma? 

It was fifty-six years ago, to the day, a Friday. I was in 4th grade, in Mr. Braley’s room. Mrs. Kreuger was crying. Usually she made us kids cry. The flag was flying at half-mast. The multi-purpose room was quieter than normal as we waited for the bus at the end of the day. We might have been dismissed early.

A long, sad weekend, puncuated by more deadly violence broadcast live on national television on Sunday.

The end of Camelot, people would say. The end of the innocence.

The Sondland testimony might could possibly maybe seal Trump’s fate. Nobody knows for sure.

Trump claims all of it is just playing into his hands, so there’s that. He’s so polished at deflecting the damage, or just acting like nothing is going on. I hope at some point it all catches up with him and he either explodes or spontaneously combusts. There have been few people easier to root against. And he’s brought it all on himself.

He is a privileged, spiteful mooncalf who’s just loitering.

Haven’t really been following the impeachment hearings. My day is better for not having listened to the Republican sound bytes and their insistence on covering Trump’s ass.

What happens happens. We’ll muddle through, life will go on in some fashion. We’ll continue to complain and disagree about the direction the country should be heading. Hateful people will continue to be hateful. Trump will continue to be Trump. And the flat-earthers will emerge as a consequential political force. 

So, all is well.