It is a truth universally acknowledged, that if Trump is reelected, we will lose our fucking minds.
Four more years of this anxiety, fear, disgust, and helpless rage would not be endurable. The daily insults to our intelligence and to our very souls are not sustainable. So even though on the one hand we are convinced that sanity will prevail and Biden will win the election, on the other hand we now know that a large portion of voters is rooting for that stupid fat malevolent cunt to finish destroying what’s left of our democracy.
So! What will you do? I want to leave the US, and I’m thinking about what my choices are. Ireland, maybe? I have two friends who live in Ireland, so at least I would know someone. They’re still letting us in for some reason. It’s a beautiful place, and I wouldn’t have to learn a new language.
From Dublin, you can fly to France, where one could hopefully outstay one’s visa and just blend into the background of Paris.
The last (and only) time I went to Paris, I was 15 years old. My sister and I had acquired a pair of French boyfriends who were vacationing in London, where we spent our evenings at a disco bar in Earl’s Court. I can still remember the jukebox there, which was always playing either “Lola” or “Band of Gold.” Anyway, we met these guys, Michel and Daniel, who wore striped sailor shirts and little scarves around their necks. They were adorable.
Soon, they invited us for a dirty weekend in Paris, and we showed up there with no idea of what to do or where to go. We found a cheap hotel where the proprietress yelled at us contemptuously in French but took our money, however resentfully. The next day, we went to Daniel’s house in the suburbs, where the guys were lolling around while the parents were away somewhere. We watched French TV and one of the guys put on a facial mask. We assumed this was a normal thing for cute French guys.
The guys were horrified to learn that my sister and I were both having our periods! Hahaha! They were beside themselves, blabbing hysterically about “le regle.” Eventually they calmed down and I think we spent a nice day with them. I really can’t remember anything else, but I have a packet of heartsick letters from Michele Girard, his actual name, proclaiming his love and calling me his little cabbage.
So anyway, France would be great and they have socialized medicine, so hopefully I could get my antidepressants, lipitor, ativan, and calcium. If it’s Ireland, I can get some of those bulky hand-knit sweaters, and eat scones and oatcakes and learn to drink Guinness.
Meanwhile, my sister just texted me, “ARE YOU LISTENING TO WILLIAM BARR?” in all caps, and even though I’m not, I can feel the revulsion rising in my chest. What a fucking fucker that fucking bastard is. Four more years of that bulldog warty face will kill me, and not in a good way.
Four more years of Jared and Ivanka, Chad Wolf and Peter Navarro, simpering Mike Pence and the rest of those motherfuckers, no no no no.
Think how much worse it can get! Or don’t, since it will raise your cortisol level, disrupting almost all your body’s processes and putting you at risk of anxiety, depression, digestive problems, headaches, heart disease, sleep problems, weight gain, memory and concentration impairment.
Wait, you already have those symptoms? Me too! France or Ireland, cast your vote. Or submit another viable destination and I’ll meet you there in December.