Ever since he declared his candidacy to seek the Republican nomination two years ago, Donald Trump has been like an unwelcome, nonpaying guest in my life.
Now, since that disbelieving evening back in November, he has become the squatter from hell.
He is everywhere.
He populates and soils my Facebook and Twitter feed. He’s in my newspaper, on my TV, on my laptop, and has on occasion found his way to my dinner table. Look, he even got in my blog! Like an enormous Jabba the Hutt he flops himself into social discourse; impossible to ignore and such a wet blanket that the mention of his name steals the fun from a party.
I haven’t read science fiction since I was a kid. It seems to me the last book I read – I’ve no clue by whom– had a general theme that went like this: the hulking, bizarre leader of an unknown species and the equally bizarre leader of a different species had their laser gizmos pointed at one another and were threatening to blow each other out of the galaxy.
The cock posturing between America’s unpredictable and politically unschooled leader and North Korea’s crazy one has that sci-fi feeling. Grownups across the world – you, me, our kids – are freaking out over the power now in the hands of these two trigger-happy man boys.
You know that feeling when you’re flying over the Rockies or the Great Lakes and turbulence smacks your plane around? You feel utterly out of control. If this was a car, you’re thinking as you grab the nearest arm, I’d feel better if I was driving.
Many of us feel that powerlessness now, much as I imagine the generation before me felt during the Bay of Pigs.
There was a piece in today’s paper about the last moments of an Oregon man. His wife told him what he needed to hear so he could die in peace. “Donald Trump has been impeached. Everything will be all right.” He died content.
It’s a strange time here on Planet Earth.
Let sane heads prevail. Let wise people lead.
When I'm 64 
Boy have you ever said precisely what so many of us feel Ger! Sliding down this slippery slope of our neighbour’s making is a very uncomfortable feeling. No wonder my girls don’t want to have kids….
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Thanks, Jayne. An uneasy time.
And…..Trump and his ilk will have bunkers to escape to. Not so, for you and me.
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A good piece here – First an apology – ‘Sorry’ about the dining room table bit – (well by way a recent blog -perhaps a bit of alt fact there). The extremely worrisome piece of this is the size of peashooters is not small.. and the largest ‘Big Bertha’ of all is his climate change denial.
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Impossible to ignore; powerless to change.
What do you want for dinner?
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#45’s publicity is the wind behind his inflated sails. His own unpredictability creates the very tailwind which drives him. A perpetual blustering ego machine. But course correction is hard to make in an unpredictable wind. Inflated sails must be dropped, sufficient political oars need to be in the water, the public current must change direction, and the engine of democracy must be engaged. Doldrums of political progress will be his ultimate demise, of his wind, of his self-serving all channel sit-com. Until then, we will be buffeted by #45’s unwanted intrusion in our lives.
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Eloquently (and nautically) put, Lloyd.
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Perhaps motivated by the sense of seasickness experienced by the constant sea of agitation.
😉
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