Voluntary Withdrawal

I'm going to sleep now...

I'm not going to pay any attention as the President of the United States (not *my* president) steamrolls his agenda with a barking, drooling congress who clusters around his feet like a pack of hounds and a Supreme Court comprised of right-wing sluts who are willing to rubber stamp his intractable agenda.  I'm not going to wring my hands and throw up, or become spiritually anorexic over what direction my country is headed.  Instead, I will become numb.  I will disengage.   Why?  Like Herman Melville's immortal character Bartleby it is because "I would prefer not to."  It is my coping mechanism.  Pardon me while I dissociate for the next four years.  But you must understand that this is a common reaction to trauma.  I will not fret about social security, though it will be a miracle if its coffin nails aren't hammered down during these next four years.  I will not agonize over the War, because although I confess I was somewhat gratified when we kicked Saddam's ass, perhaps it was, in retrospect, silly of me to hope that the American people would rebuke a president who leads us into war.  Clearly the majority of Americans favor it, or at least favor giving this president another chance to end it nobly.  I will solice myself with the knowledge that least a few of my dreams came true: Patty Murray returns to the senate, and the Green Line monorail will be built, which I can expect will improve my commute and property values. 

Others will have to gather what peace of mind they may from the shreds of Kerry's defeat.  But I have made mine.

And so, g'night.