Fall not into the arms of Sara Lee

Propel thyself forward with a good fart walk

Hey hun, 

Knock, knock! How are you doing in there? Still alive, I hope! I very nearly had to print this out and walk it down to the post office because my internet went out. And of course, because it was down, I couldn’t look up the goddamn phone number and had to call around to the neighbors to get it. Then, as always, once I’d managed to get them on the phone, they had the nerve to make it sound like I was inconveniencing them!

Sure, they’re very happy to take your money every month, but the second the service stops working, suddenly it’s impossible to get anyone out there before next week between the hours of 8 AM and never. Oh great, thanks, asshole. 

Speaking of assholes, what the hell happened Election Day? I know, the debrief doesn’t really help how awful it feels. To be honest, I thought that Trump would be dead by now on account of his McDonald’s diet. How is it that some of the healthiest people I know had heart attacks way too young while this guy thrives off trash? Maybe I don’t want to know the answer to that. 

Anyway, is it bad if I wasn’t all that shocked? It was a slim chance in hell that this country would elect a woman. In fact many people, women included, would rather set the place on fire. I’m just feeling dread. Dread, and disappointment that I might end up leaving this place much worse off than I found it. What will this mean for future generations and the rest of the world? 

I was just at the grocery store and I ended up talking to an acquaintance in the produce aisle. You know how butternut squash gets ‘em going. We were feeling our gourds and commiserating about the election when she mentioned how after Roe v. Wade passed, she felt vindicated and hopeful for the women of the future, until recently, that is. 

She said she’s been depressed ever since the election. The whole store seemed depressed. The teenagers at the cash registers were more slumped than usual and the dull yellow overheads crushed down on everything. Even Little Debbie was sad. 

But something that my acquaintance said stuck with me, as I loaded up the car. I was even thinking about it as I sat on the couch that gets a good bit of sunshine that time of day – Harold used to kick me out of it to sprawl in the warmth. 

She had said, “I just want to curl up, eat this entire Sara Lee pound cake and never step foot outside again.”

I sat there, thinking about it as I had a cookie with my afternoon coffee, wishing that I had also gotten one of those frozen Sara Lee pound cakes. What’s that called? Eating your feelings?

I’m no stranger to the comfortable embrace of the sweet sponge (or a glass of wine). It’s one of the best ways to turn off your brain when you can’t get your hands on laughing gas at the dentist’s. 

Certainly, it’s preferable when you think about the helpless, steamrolling feeling preempting the next four years. From where I sat with my coffee, I could see my reflection in the window pane. Sometimes I forget exactly how old I am, until I see knobby hands or my white hair pulled up into a little bun. How many cumulative years do you think I’ve spent drinking coffee in this chair? In my kitchen? How long have I looked out this window? 

And what should I be doing otherwise? Down which avenue are my energies best served? I won’t pretend to have any more answers than all us other dumbstruck fools, but I know that today the weather is satisfyingly crisp. I know that I have a lot of good friends and family to look after. I know the bookstore down the way now serves a nice hazelnut roast. I know that even my grocery store friend will make it out of her house for bingo. 

I don’t know what good I can do, but I won’t find any answers from the inside of the pantry. I’m just so sick of politicians treating us like property on a Monopoly board, jostling each other for the first grab at ownership and control. That’s enough to make me queasy but what really makes me sick is seeing all the numbers come in and how white woman helped put him in the office. 

Again, I wish I could say that I was surprised. Are you? You have to remember that I am from a different time. I can see how things have shifted now, and how the veils have changed, but much has stayed the same. Just seeing their stupid pink Trump flags makes me wish they have the next four years that they truly deserve. 

So let’s say that succumbing to the soft sanctuary of the frozen aisle cake is OK as a short break, but let’s not stay inside, in the kitchen where so many would love for us to sit and rot. Actually, going out for a walk seems like a pretty good idea right now, especially after the breakfast I had. Getting older means farting all the time, in case you didn’t know. At least it helps to keep you warm. 

Nonetheless, I am determined that some asshole will not drain my life of joy. I know I said it before, but let’s not lay down easily. Let’s be as annoying and defiant as possible. If there’s anything positive to come out of this, it puts a sharper lens on what and who’s important! 

I hope you have the chance to have some really wonderful moments coming up, and let’s talk soon. Get outside and then take a shower. I know how you have a tendency to fester when you’re down.

Love, 

Grams