I was literally ill the day after the presidential election of 2016, and two days afterward, I called in black. I still can scarcely believe the results, and often wonder if I’m in the Twilight Zone, on Candid Camera, or dead and in purgatory.
I watched the primaries, and I kept telling people the man who currently occupies the White House could not possibly win; his early supporters were a tiny minority of a minority within the Republican party. Of course with fourteen candidates in the race, there was bound to be winnowing out, and some of those names were not unexpected–e.g., Carly Fiorina. When the current president was the last man standing, I was still a long way from worried. After all, what sane, thinking person could vote for this man? He was–and still is–a liar, openly racist, sexist, homophobic, Islamophobic, misogyinistic, rude, incredibly thin skinned, a self-admitted sexual predator, public adulterer, thrice married–his evangelical supporters have some explaining to do–and just plain not nice. And that hair.