A Perfect Storm

This past week has been a perfect storm. The usual late summer/early fall sinus happiness, combined with another unrelated but simultaneous health issue, add in the death of a friend’s mother and don’t forget a big swig of the usual melancholy that encroaches this time of year and there you have it – my sad little cocktail.

I already knew that Maxine Waters hated me (who cares) and that Crazy Uncle Joe thought I was a terrorist (again, who cares), but then I find out that I’m a BARBARIAN. I’m sure my husband wonders if that comes with a Xena outfit.

And Teamster President Jimmy Hoffa called me ugly, albeit grammatically incorrect, names. Oh, and don’t forget I’m a raaaaacist, too.

There’s even a video game where people can shoot at me.

What a great way to cheer a girl up.

And the President, who just a few weeks ago asked for civility, does not respond. Mum. Silent as the grave.

So maybe your silence really is consent. Maybe you completely support the “war” against half the country; maybe you like the “take them out” and “barbarian” lines.

If you do, though, it flies in the face of your pretty words in Arizona, last January.

And it makes us wonder if we should believe you about anything, anymore; if you don’t mean what you say in big speeches about civility, why should we believe you mean what you say in a “big” speech about something as substantial as jobs.

Really. We’ve come a long way since 9/12/2001, haven’t we? When for just a few days, at least, we were all Americans. That is, all of us, except for you.

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