Hair on Fire, Part 42

Yeah, I know. I have neglected the blog. I’m been busy. Too busy. Very busy. Very, very busy. Very, very, VERY busy. I haven’t been this overwhelmed since I planned my wedding. In three months. Yeah, I know, I’m insane.

Getting two (count em, TWO) kids off to college at once, a thousand miles apart, is a full-time job. One is returning to Rome for his junior year and my sweet Hornist-With-No-Gig is heading to New York to start graduate school. What most folks have had six months or so to organize, we’ve managed to pull it off in about six weeks.

Yeah, my hair is on fire.

I’ve been lurking about the internetz, though, snatching time where I could. Today I saw this and couldn’t resist:

I realized, for the first time I can recall, that the President doesn’t like me, or people who share my values. Not that he has simple differences, or thinks I’m misguided. He doesn’t like me, and if you’re reading this post on Ricochet he probably doesn’t like you, either. And it isn’t mild dislike: it’s utter contempt.

When has a president — any president — so thoroughly shown that he despises at least half the population of the country? Not Bush, not Reagan, not even Clinton.

It’s not just about policy or party. It’s personal.

Last week, at a fast food chicken restaurant with family values that will remain nameless until I get around to ranting about THAT issue, I overheard a table full of seniors (65+) whispering about the current state of American affairs. One even admitted, “I voted for the moron. But not this time.”

Then yesterday, when I voted early in the Georgia Primary, I had to wait in line. Unusual, yes, but there is a rather unpopular tax transportation referendum that has increased turnout. But there’s a something in the air.

Yes, indeedy. Something’s in the air and it’s not smoke from what’s left of my hair.

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