A Fist Full of Lozenges

Hate is a sour lozenge.  It’s always available.  It immediately moistens the mouth, and provides an overriding purpose as you turn it over and over in your tongue.  If it gets small and disappears you can pull out another one and begin anew.  But you can’t live on lozenges.  They aren’t sustaining, they distract you from what you should be doing to sustain yourself and they invariably flavor your entire mouth. 

I woke up late.  Stumbled around for the car keys, my big orange coat and my sneakers.  I tried to rouse my little one.  Sometimes she says: “how come you didn’t wake me up to come with you to the gym?” even though I had shaken her shoulder and asked her this fifty minutes earlier.  So, I tried to rouse her, convincingly this morning.  She wasn’t being roused.

Before leaving I quickly checked the emails from overnight.  OK.  Hmm.  Right.  And robotically I then take an obligatory glance at the New York Times.  Did anything significant happen while I slept?   Trump refers to Haiti and African countries as “shitholes”.   I suppose in a way it was what I was looking for and immediately I grabbed a fist full of lozenges and began to pull at them assertively with my inner cheeks. 

Unwittingly I found myself speaking aloud:  “I fucking hate you.  I hate you.”  Donald Trump, have you ever heard the name Toussaint L’Ouverture?  Have you bothered to learn anything about the history of Haiti?  What do you know of anything, beyond yourself?   This is a horrible thing to have had happen.  This man is doing more than anyone I can think of to tarnish our country, cheapen the country, weaken the country.  Do you understand that what you said was hurtful and that you should apologize?  When will this horrible blow-hard be forced to stand naked and atone for all his mendacity?

Friday, 01/12/17