It's Not You, It's Me.

Thomas and I held each other's hands as we slept on and off for four hours after we called the election. (We couldn't and didn't wait to see it on the screen officially).  I was alarmed enough about the state of reality to check to see if he was breathing. Because if the United States can vote to put Donald Trump into the same White House as Abraham Lincoln, then perhaps husbands can disappear simply from heart break and confusion. 
It was so sad and gentle between us; as if someone had died. When the sun came up (to Thomas' surprise), he said we would not be going into the office, but we would walk. 
So we picked up Tommy and then Albert, and then had coffee and then kept walking and then had more coffee, and then had lunch with the radiant Candy and A. I had to go back for tea with another mourning friend, and Thomas said he would walk another 8 miles....so he clocked 20 over an eight hour period. We have not looked at a newspaper or the television in 24 hours. It's incredible....our house is blessedly silent. We only hear the water fall now.

 Frederick kept checking in (unusual) to describe the darkness at PEA: how quiet and sad the classes were. In his Shakespeare class they spoke only of the election.

And then I got into the bath and happened to see a friend post something about a referendum in 2019 about California leaving the union. It was very calm and simply laid out the basic facts that we are the 6th largest economy in the world, but have very bad schools etc, because-not to put too fine a point on it, we send too much money to the federal

government who has to hand it out to red states. And here is the thing: they hate us for it. They hate us for hoping for health care for all, or fewer guns, or the government out of the bedroom or or, or. Now I can take the scorn. But I never, ever withstood scorn from within the confines of a relationship. (I am nothing if not a fearless breaker upper.)
If he's not that into you, then why stay? And my friends, Alabama is just not that into us. 
KMH and I are gathering phrases to put on the T shirts for calexit:

"We are leaving you Missouri, and we're taking the guacamole with us."

(And the ficking Chardonnay too). See photos above and below that express the California girls' feelings post breakup..) 

I am more sad than anything else, but I am also furious. I am furious at people who write I am in a "bubble"; that the problem is me and the fact I do not understand the suffering of the "white working class". Really?  Because my voting record shows I want my tax dollars to help people in a different tax bracket than my own. I may not understand them, but I am genuinely trying to. And What, exactly is so offensive about my kale eating and soft heart? About my love for clean oceans and good coffee? 

So the artists and the flamenco dancing enthusiasts and I will have to leave and console ourselves  by drinking expensive California Cabernet (you heard me!!! Drinking Snooty wine! Like the devil -and Jesus actually- unlike blessed teetotalers like trump and Hitler) and we will try to forget all the good times we've had, like the ass whipping we had to hand out over a disagreement about enslaving people!!!!! 

Ok. Maybe that was too far. I'm sorry. I don't blame you for flipping me off with your tiny fingers ...

I won't be able to see them from my plane anyway. 

good luck with your friend Trimp (typo but I'm going with it). 

Help me.

Somebody say something other than reasonable minds can disagree over this. 

Because It's just not true.