Day 314 of Project 365: The day after.

Today I woke up feeling hungover, even though I hadn’t had a thing to drink last night. Everything took longer than usual for me to do, but somehow I made it to work early. There is something deeply comforting about being in a library before it opens, witnessing so much latent possibility.

One of my coworkers gave me a big hug. Another coworker treated me to a hot chocolate. And then this happened:…

We take care of each other. We do the work, and we fight for what we believe in, and we take care of each other. No election outcome is going to change my mind about that.

Tonight was a night like any other night. A friend and I went to dinner, and we caught up on our personal current events. Then we talked about doing the work. And we ate pickled deviled eggs, which I highly recommend, regardless of who is president.

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I like what Anil Dash has to say about the work that we have yet to do.

If you know someone who is struggling with the outcome of this election, let them know that you’ve got their back. That is only a partisan sentiment if we make it one.

I’m going to post a link to the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline just because.

Hollow now. Hoping that you read this and regardless of how you voted you know that we can all do better. We must all do better.

Writing from: my study in Portland, Oregon. Listening to: the churn of the old brainmeats.

Day 313 of Project 365: Election night palate-cleanser.

Zen wants to cuddle.

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Writing from: my study in Portland, Oregon. Listening to: ugh. Just ugh.

Day 293 of Project 365: This nasty woman votes.

I largely avoid discussing politics here. It’s a conscious choice to keep this space clear of incontinent trolls who cannot help but spew ill-reasoned bile all over any corner of the Internet that grabs their attention.

But tonight, during the final presidential debate, the Republican nominee for President of the United States called Hillary Clinton “such a nasty woman.” This misogynist name-caller considers himself qualified to hold the highest political office in America, to confer and collaborate with other world leaders, to help decide the fate of the planet. I won’t even get into the rest of this person’s problematic behavior; you read the news, so you know already. I am aghast at the mental hoops someone must jump through to justify voting for someone who is simply unable to keep his petty little opinion to himself on national television.

I hesitate to jump on meme bandwagons, but this one spoke to me. And this nasty woman votes.

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Writing from: my study in Portland, Oregon. Listening to: nothing. Just … nothing.

Day 350 of Project 365: Four More Years

I tried to sleep through the night, but was glad when FunkyPlaid woke me up around 4am to tell me of Obama’s lead in the polls. I stayed up to watch Romney’s concession and Obama’s acceptance, and fell asleep shortly after dawn broke, exhausted but relieved.

While Obama hasn’t been a perfect president, he has inspired me to be a better citizen. That is more than I can say for any other president in my lifetime.

Day 350 of Project 365: Four More Years

gratitude: Maine, Maryland, Washington, and Minnesota · Senators-elect Tammy Baldwin and Elizabeth Warren · hope tempered with hard work

now what

I was at work when the news came, when the world changed. I was at work and we are not supposed to show our emotions on our sleeves, our choices on our lapels, but we couldn’t help it, and we clapped our hands and laughed and said yes.

My father called and said, “Thank you, California!” and I replied, “Thank you, Pennsylvania!” and for a few minutes it was like we were in the same place.

I sent my mother a text that read, “Yes, we can, and yes, we did! Congratulations on a new America, mooms.” She replied that she was with me, and for a few minutes, she was.

On the train home, I sneakily studied the faces of the people around me, thinking: does he know yet? Is she happy? And then I pretended as if I didn’t know yet, as if my breath was still held. We were all suspended in that time between hoping and knowing.

Later, my beloved and I opened a bottle of pinot noir and danced in the street. No longer ashamed, we threw each other around the place like children, skittering away from headlights, heaving laughter. I slept heavily, untouched by tendrils of fear.

Not all the battles were won last night, but we are girded with new energy and resilience. Now no longer ground into disparate paste, I have so many questions for our new leader:

What do we do next? How do we continue moving forward? How do we fight for the rights of all Americans? What is the plan? How can I help?

Now what?

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I acknowledge that I live and work on stolen Cowlitz, Clackamas, Atfalati, and Kalapuya land.
I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.