Oy. How are you feeling? I’m finding out that all this barely suppressed, politically-induced rage is hell on the immune system. I think I’ve been some sort of sick all but maybe three days since the inauguration.

Last week started with a cough and by the next day, I was alternately shaking and sweating on the couch. Every muscle ached and my throat was so sore I could barely speak–the horror! I feel I can say, without the slightest bit of exaggeration, that I very nearly died. What? You don’t know.

Coughs_and_Sneezes_Spread_Diseases_Art.IWMPST14133

Thank god I was fearsomely ill and not “Mom Sick.” “Mom Sick” means you feel like crap but still do laundry, clean the house, pay the bills and make supper. “Mom Sick” is a normal day, but with a NyQuil chaser. I went to bed for two days. TWO! I have never been in bed two days in my life. I was pissed as hell they made me stay in the hospital for twenty four whole hours after giving birth, and passed the time admiring the baby, sure, but also pacing the halls and stealing ice cream cups from the guest lounge freezer.

Still, good things came from it. For one, I got to lie on the couch and watch Terminator 2, which I have been wanting to do since November. Forget Titanic (yawn) this is James Cameron’s finest work.

For one thing, it is the best premise ever for a sequel: Sarah Conner knows about the apocalyptic future that’s coming. She KNOWS and tries to warn everyone, so what do they do? Stick her in an asylum, obviously. The fools. There is no better heroine for our time, and I’ll tell you why: because Sarah doesn’t give up.

When we finally get a glimpse of her, she has flipped her bed on its side and is doing pull-ups because you have to be ready. Against all odds and even if seemingly defeated by an uncaring, ignorant authority you still prepare. Plus, bonus, those arms!!!

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Every woman I knew back in the 90s wanted those arms. Michele Obama wishes she had Linda Hamilton’s arms in that movie. I have googled “How to get Linda Hamiliton’s arms” more times than I can count, but as I have neither three free hours a day, nor a military combat coach, I’m afraid that they will remain an elusive dream. (Because that is the only thing standing in the way, my lack of a military combat coach.)

The second good thing is that despite my “curry soup, mashed potato, hot chocolate, and chocolate chip cookie” diet– feed a cold, feed a fever!– I lost four pounds last week. Now there are only a couple reasons why that might have worked:
Number one; and I hate to even bring this up, could I possibly be drinking the caloric equivalent of four pounds a week? Lets see, if a bottle of wine has about 625 calories (please do not ask me how I know this) and a pound equals 3600 calories…that equals…a trip to the Betty Ford clinic, that’s what that equals. So, no.
Number two; a friend of mine suggested it was simply getting sufficient sleep for the first time in, what, twenty years? I must say, that sounds good to me. In fact, maybe I’m built like a bear–meant to hibernate for the winter months. See, the problem is, I’ve been walking around, doing stuff like a chump all my life, instead of taking to bed until spring.

God, doesn’t that sound tempting? Although, given the unrelenting pace of political bombshells, currently, I’d be afraid of what would be waiting for me when I wake up:
Every post-secondary institution in our country transitioned to Trump University outposts, classes taught by, not Professors, but Celebrity Apprentice alums. Mandatory work uniforms consisting of wrinkled blue blazers, overlong ties and Ivanka’s toesless boots (made in China by deported CNN investigative reporters), the nation’s children goose-stepping down the street on their way to their “Jesus Loves Me” indoctrination centers, oops, I mean, schools (morning class schedule: Democracy, Pfbbbbt, Who Needs It?, Bankruptcy Law, and Bear Safety Tips) carrying their Trump branded notebooks and 12 packs of Orange Crayolas (all other colors having been deemed subversive and un-American.)

Shudder. I couldn’t handle the shock. It’s much better, if physically exhausting, to confront the changes as they come. Besides, I have 1875 calories worth of wine upstairs just waiting for this cold to finally be gone. And I think I’ll start doing a few daily push-ups, besides. It never hurts to be prepared.

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The Rise & Fall of a Momocracy

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