Sunday glums

Dear President Trump,

How was your weekend? How many rounds of golf did you get in? I hear you were “joking” about a constitutional amendment to allow some president, some day, perhaps even you know who, to serve as many terms as they are “elected” to. How was it to try on the idea of being installed as president for life? I deliberately chose not to say “serve as president” for life because you are not serving the country, rather you were installed to sow chaos, undermine everything decent and intelligent, and to make scads of money for your buds. But I sort of digress. Are you feeling ready for the week ahead? What’s on tap? What’s are the markets going to do in reaction to the tariff deal? How long is Jared going to hang out now that he officially can’t really do anything? Who is going to be subpoenaed next and who is going to flip? How are we going to keep doing this shit?

I started out with the intention of asking whether you are feeling that glum “it’s Sunday night” melancholy that starts creeping into our household around 3:30 a lot of Sunday afternoons, but I got off track with all the crap that’s going on. Sometimes I wonder if your tangential, drawn to the stimulus, can’t focus at all way of thinking is contagious and I’ve caught it. At least right now, I seem to have a case of it. Probably because I’m tired. And glum. A couple of hours ago when I recognized I was feeling this way and thought maybe you were too, I tried to do a few minutes of tonglen and had a tough time figuring out what to breathe back out. At first I thought maybe contentment would be the way to go, but that felt invalidating, like it was just putting a thin coat of sugar over the glum. I ended up settling on acceptance, even though it’s not technically a feeling but more of an attitude. Acceptance that a pensive glum was happening, a reminder not to fight it, and that for me it’ll pass and contentment will probably visit again soon. For you, who knows. Given how things have been going for you and yours, I doubt it will be contentment, more likely panic. It’s not very nice of me, but the thought that you are likely scared out of your mind is rather gratifying as it’s only fair after what you’ve put us through the last 408 days. To keep my instant karma at bay, here is a blessing for you, my most difficult person on the planet….

May you be safe.
May you be happy.
May you be healthy.
May you seriously not start a war or otherwise throw a tantrum.

Sincerely,
Tracy Simpson

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