She Won the Fucking Popular Vote.
I have work to do.
A lot. I don’t mean anything profound. I mean, I have three costumes to alter, paperwork to complete, phone calls to be made, laundry to wash.
Today, Saturday November 12th 2016, makes this day 4 in our reality where the stale cheeto fucktard is posed to take Washington come January.
I can’t get my work done. I’ve been trying, for days, different hours and locations, turn on the heat, turn off the heat, soft lights, bright overheads. Coffee. Yerba mate. Herbal. Some more yerba mate.
I can’t get my work done.
I haven’t felt this numb/heartbroken/angry/deflated/defeated since a particularly awful breakup years ago. I don’t want to get out of bed. I don’t want to eat. Clear liquids are ok. I’ll go for a walk, but a slow pace, and anything more is out of the question. There is no escape and I don’t know if there even should be. It very well may be unethical to close my eyes, cover my ears and just scream until further notice.
There are so many things to discuss, knots to unravel, layers upon layers and angles upon angles to view, reflect and experience the loss of an HRC presidency through. Off the cuff there are several potential theses I’m rambling through in my mind.
But I know one thing for sure: Hillary Rodham Clinton won the fucking popular vote of the American people in November 2016. Reports continue to show that ballots just being counted now add to that total.
My mind and heart can’t rest because look at that photo above. As Bill and Tim melt behind her, Hillary maintains such deep strength that this is the closest we will ever see of her sorrow.
Its haunting, really. Eyes ahead towards the people and future she has always fought for, lips slightly pursed, chin up, hands and arms retired from their passionate poses.
This is the closest we will ever see of her sorrow.
As the stale cheeto fucktard expresses each and every disgusting emotion he desires without question, as Bill and Tim weep, this is the closest we will ever see of her sorrow.
Because this, this is the heart of it all.
I don’t care nor want to hear any reason of why she is not president other than She Is A Woman. Electoral college included, this country is so insecure and terrified of A Woman of Equal or More Power & Intellect that Hillary’s sheer existence has been attacked for over thirty years.
As adoring as Obama is, he is the only Nobel Peace Prize winner with a kill list. None of us are perfect. He laughs, cries, shows deep anger and disappointment yet made it to the Oval Office.
If I’ve walked away with anything this week, it’s that A Woman of Equal or More Power & Intellect cannot, and has not, for the time being, win.
Truly looking at that reality this week, I didn’t realize how soul crushing it would be. Like many others, I intellectualize to distance myself and ensure emotional protection. It wasn’t just my current self watching her stand with such poise and grace this week.
It was me, standing in the Somerville courthouse before Judge Ye this summer, several thick file folders full of police records, prior restraining orders, my own affidavit, a witness testimony, the affidavit of another woman, years before who had also suffered from the mental torture and verbal abuse of my then roommate, being told that I would not be granted protection from a harassment or abuse prevention order. That the previous woman and evidence of a history of violence against women had nothing to do with my case.
It was me, in rehearsal being bypassed for a difficult task as a supervisor went to find a guy to do it instead. At that point I’d been working in my field for 7 years.
It was me, age 14 or so, being told off for being snarky, for fighting back. I was not holding my ground, I was stubborn. I was not direct and task oriented, I was bossy. I was not thinking critically, I was being difficult.
Let it go, they would say. Just let it go. Just walk away. Remove yourself from the situation. Don’t take things so seriously. Lighten up a little. It’s not the end of the world. Think positively. You know you’re not terribly good company — you’re angry all the time.
My elementary school self was watching Hillary’s concession speech too. I had a good friend, maybe two, but my comfort and wisdom mainly came from my books, both biographies (shout out to Amelia Earhart, Louisa May Alcott, Abigail Adams, Eleanor Roosevelt, Madam CJ Walker) and fiction (Laura Ingalls Wilder, Anne of Green Gables, Hermione Granger). Each of those girls and women pushed me forward, kept me going, helped me maintain my own compass, so as I watched Hillary the other day —
— something broke. The math wasn’t right. I am far from surprised or shocked. I witnessed the first female president’s future being taken right out from under her when Billie Jean King won the Battle of the Sexes and Sally Ride shook my hand, signed my lanyard and reminded 10 year old me that women belong in science as much as anyone else.
Something is broken. The math isn’t right. This is not new. Remember that bumper sticker, ‘if you’re not angry, you’re not paying attention’?. Your shock is a reflection and mirror image of your confidence in a not yet sealed future.
I have swallowed this week so deep in hopes of being able to engage with my day to day life that now, when I try to muster my visceral self, I end up writing because speaking out loud is hard and tiring and no, I’m not going to Listen to The Other Side or Work Together. I am a triple threat; single unmarried sex positive woman, queer enough, and a Jew. I will not be complicit in the dehumanizing violence being put forth in this country. I will not be a conscientious observer, negotiator, fellow country(wo)man, hear them out, bipartisan blah blah. I will not give a single ounce of credit, benefit of the doubt, time or energy to such sleezy shitheads.
Maybe you will. And that’s your prerogative. This is fucking America after all.
But I’m staring into Hillary’s eyes and the least I can do, the least we can do, is scream and cry and fight out loud and release the herstory’s worth of evidence, success, sorrow and anger that holds behind her steady gaze.
