What You Wish For

I didn’t want to write a blog this week.  Ipso facto, why this one is a bit tardy.  I didn’t want to write about how I didn’t vote, because I’m as cynical as one can get about the political game.  I didn’t want to defend my decision not to partake in an election I regard as an insult to my intelligence.  I didn’t want to write about how, on Election Night, I turned off my data to tune out the world, went to see Dr. Strange (which was so dope, go see it in 3D), and then went home and didn’t hear or see a lick of news coverage.  I didn’t want to write about how, at home, I listened to CD’s while doing some free writing and coloring in my adult coloring book, perpetuating my best friends’ claim that I may have some mild form of Asperger’s.  I didn’t want to write about how I went to bed blissfully ignorant, and woke up the following morning, laughing, when I saw Trump was elected, because I was sure Hillary would win.  I didn’t want to explain how I was disconcerted with Trump’s win, albeit, somewhat bemused the world still has the ability to prove me wrong.  I didn’t want to write how I’m now in a position I never thought I’d be in; rooting for Donald Trump, perhaps not to “make America great again,” but to make it better.  I didn’t want to write any of this, and yet it seemed unavoidable.