If you knew me offline, you’d know that I’m normally politically cantankerous enough to revive from my deathbed just long enough to say “And another thing about Karl Rove…” right as they’re about to pull a sheet over my head. Despite that, and despite knowing how devastated and frightened half the country’s been since Tuesday night, there’s currently little I’d rather discuss less than politics.
Pap smears, digital rectal exams, the strangest penile and testicular complaints Crankenstein and her friends saw as medical students and interns — I’ll talk your head off about those things.* The time I accidentally locked myself in my car and set off its alarm and wasn’t sure what I’d done or how to stop it? That’s fair game. But the next person to ask me “How are we going to make it through the next four years?” might get an honest answer.**
So far I’ve only been blunt with Crankenstein, who was visibly startled, but it seems like this should be obvious to anyone playing along at home: I’m not looking much further ahead than four days or maybe — if we want to be wildly optimistic about the future — four weeks from now. Keeping my head above water has been enough of a struggle lately, for reasons unrelated to politics, and that’s still where my attention and energy are focused. Adding more sadness and trepidation to that would drown me.
Rather than wallow in feelings of misery, resentment and helplessness about other people’s decisions, I’ll focus on what I can control. We’ll evaluate whether to accelerate a few purchases that might cost more under the next administration, and I’ll tend to practical things like making sure we’re positioned to be as financially and geographically nimble as we might want to be in the future. And I’ll continue watching Eight is Enough — I’m waiting longer between episodes now, since only 15 or so remain — and do my best to educate you about the many Hallmark movies with “Fall” or “Harvest” in the title.
By the way, few of these Falling for Fall or A Harvest Pumpkin Romance efforts (I plan to pitch those to Hallmark after selling The Pumpkin Spice Murders and Stalked by a Scarecrow to Lifetime) have anything to do with fall. Most play like lazily recycled holiday scripts with every reference to “Christmas” replaced by “fall.” When I mentioned this to Crankenstein a few nights ago, she pretended to be a Hallmark heroine and wistfully said, “Fall was my dead mother’s favorite holiday.”
* If you ever need a conversation-starter around doctors of any specialty, or nurses who’ve worked in an ER, ask about the strangest items they’ve retrieved from the southernmost cavities of patients’ bodies. You’ll hear many a story about men who “just happened to fall” on enormous phallic-shaped objects you wouldn’t have expected to find anywhere near the ladders they apparently (unsteadily) climb while nude. Women get in on the act, too, but it’s likelier to be an occupational hazard for them, while men do it recreationally. We all have to get our kicks somehow, but maybe it’s best to follow in the tradition of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? when chasing illicit thrills that might send us to the ER — by which I mean, consider using the phone-a-friend option before waddling up to the triage desk.
** “Fled the country yet?” and “Hope you’ve enjoyed being married!” are also popular, but I would encourage straight people (and bisexuals in heterosexual unions) to temporarily abstain from marital gallows humor. I’ve personally only heard such comments from friends and acquaintances who strongly support gay marriage, but let’s not get too comfortable pretending we’re all equally in this together — we aren’t. If challenges to marriage equality don’t directly threaten your relationship, your jokes probably aren’t landing quite as you’d hoped. I’m not big on policing humor, and others in same-sex marriages might be less chagrined, but right now it feels like gallons of rubbing alcohol being poured onto gaping wounds.