Right now, we all deserve a little hope.

Hello again! How are you feeling these days? 

As you can see, I'm wound pretty tightly. I've been busy trying to prevent acid reflux from shrinking up my viscera and causing it to irreversibly coil itself around my rather rustic skeletal architecture. Think third-grade tetherball game where the pole is my spine and the rope my lower intestines. 

I been trying the conventional coping tools, with spotty success:

Take a walk. Take a ride. Take a break. 

Take a Headspace down there by the lake.

Take a breath. Take a cry. Take a beer. 

Take a pill so I'll sleep for a year.

Thanks for the tips there, Dr. Seuss. That last tactic is more of a Covid-themed sci-fi fantasy, but hey, imagine if tomorrow, some V.I.P. from Moderna said, "Hey, listen, we felt like, rather than just sitting on all that cash that's been flowing like fake movie butter, we're also going to deliver a little Scoobie Snack for the emotionally overwhelmed. We're calling it a 'durable therapeutic.' Just pop one of these into the old gob and you'll wake up around the time the Kraken take the ice next fall. Who's in, America?"

I say, diaper me up, Scottie. 

Actually, no, no way. We've all waited this long, so I'll be doggoned if I'm going to stop paying attention at the most pivotal social and political moment of our lifetimes.

Originally, I was going to wait to post something until after next Tuesday's election. That way, I could:

A) Gloat about Joe Biden's victory and the ensuing blue wave that knocked Lindsay "I-Sold-My-Soul-to-a-Hair-Brained-Hog-Goblin" Graham and Mitch "If-I-Lose-I'll-Have-to-Go-Back-to-the-Sea" McConnell.

B) Whine about Drumpf's, victory. I'm not sure how that would even look because my mind immediately thrusts up large concrete barriers to block the way down that route every time I try. I say to myself, "Dude, just imagine the worst-case scenario and plan on what it would be like to live under those conditions for at least another four years."

Two points here. Number one, no matter how bad we imagine things can get, this man has proven they can get even worse. The second point is that I never call myself Dude while engaging in internal dialogue, nor should I. And if you hear it happening out loud, definitely point it out.

We're three days out right now. What are you doing to keep yourself sane, or at least less insane? I've developed such a love/hate relationship with the news. My thirst for new information is insatiable, but it's become a slippery slope, and I'm wearing Crisco-slathered flip flops. Headlines must be vigilantly scoured for potentially triggering content. 

Do I really want to read about the latest polls in Pennsylvania? Probably not. Should I click on the link to an exposé that chronicles the Trump family's history with Russia? Not if I want that stubborn vein to recede back into my forehead. 

To illustrate, let's do a little exercise. I'll list a few headlines from the Associated Press (considered the most unbiased source of information in a Gallup/Knight Foundation survey) and we'll consider whether or not to click on in:

• Road to 270: Biden has options, Trump walks narrow path—Nope, not going to read this one. I'll get all excited and hopeful, plus this has been the case forever.

• After year of disruption, America set to choose a path ahead—This is no different than a headline that reads, After sleeping for 7.5 hours, man wakes up, checks Frosted Mini-Wheat supply. No shit, AP people. This is where you imagine Dana Carvey's George Bush I voice proclaiming, "Not gaaa read it."

• Sean Connery, the 'original' James Bond, dies at 90—Definitely reading this. I feel like he would've threatened to kick my ass if I didn't ("Read the fuckin' tribute or I'll knock ya shenshless, ya litt'l pishant.").

 • Who is voting? Who is winning? Early vote only offers clues—Such click bait, isn't it? I want answers to all these questions, plus I'd love to analyze the clues like a real detective! Wait, nope. After 2016, I think we've learned that political prognostication is about as dependable as an N95 mask with teriyaki stains.

Based on this small sample, I'd say a conclusion can be drawn. Now comes the hard part, the challenge of avoiding online political content for the next three days. 

I also just wanted to say, all the best to all of us, regardless of how we vote(d). And while my beliefs clash so starkly with those of the other side, I think we would all agree that this year hasn't been kind to any of us.

That's why it's time for Joe and Kamala to provide us the hope we deserve.

Hang in There, Friends.

It happened. Yep, really did.

And still today, a week removed from one of the biggest political shocks in modern history, much of the world hasn’t fidgeted even an inch, still staring numbly into a future that looks a damn sight murkier than it had prior to November 8.

Even as the clock approached eight o'clock Pacific Time and the results began trickling in, things didn't feel all that ominous; the math still favored Hillary… and then it didn’t anymore.

One swing state after another—first Florida and North Carolina, then Ohio, Michigan and Pennsylvania—gradually bloomed into tints so red they began glowing orange. It was a flavor of dread I can’t recall tasting before.

As the evening wore on, the boulder that loomed high above us began its slow descent, its shadow darkening our surroundings. Did it drop suddenly, shattering our bodies in one crushing wallop? Of course not. The huge stone pushed patiently and steadily into our chests, ultimately smothering our diaphragms and milking our few last shallow breaths. Stars filled our eyes and engulfed our vision; wouldn’t be long now.

But then, in the most deliciously sadistic of mercies, the giant stone slowly lifted from our bodies, the air rushing to our lungs and our vision returning to focus. Still alive we are, yet reborn into a new world of pain and disbelief.

As I write this, most of us are still scared shitless, so I’m sure you’ve found your own methods for coping with Trump’s ridiculous victory. Maybe you’ve cried or screamed or cried and screamed and thrown a cat or two. Still others may have inquired into residency in another, more tolerant sovereignty with an affable pressed leaf as its national symbol. We’ve all got our coping mechanisms, so do what you have to. Here, however, are some of my personal techniques, should you run out of spray paint and places to decorate with anti-fascist messaging:

5) Do something that makes you feel good. Whether it’s volunteering, scheduling a mani-pedi or engulfing a complete stranger in a wonderfully startling back hug, take some time for you.

4) Swear more. Curse, cuss, take the Donald’s name in vain. Profanity (and F-bombs in particular) is such an underutilized venting mechanism, and lately, few things have hit the spot like stepping out onto the front porch, staring at the super moon and shouting, “Donald Trump is the biggest motherf*^%ing d*&chebag ever conceived by a pair of g%^damn human f*&^%ing beings! The only reason his f*^%ing red ties are is so long is to hang down over his f*&^%ing crotch and cover a g%^damn pair of f*^%ing testicles that still haven’t f*^%ing dropped!” Then go back in the house and tell the kids that Daddy is better.

3) Go to Las Vegas, sit on a piano and be serenaded by lots of women. Kind of hard to pull off but hey, this guy did it:

By the way, happy 21^st birthday, Jesse!

2) Get back to nature. Do some yard work, go for a nice hike or simply spend a little extra time in the produce section to appreciate the cantaloupe-sized watermelons and watermelon-sized apples. You’ll walk away feeling refreshed and confused.

1) Don’t read or watch the news and cut back on social media. I know this might sound hypocritical since most of my readership is generated through Facebook and other platforms, but I really did feel better after going dark for a week. Prior to the election I was so out of control with my news and meme consumption that my anxiety was causing a constant weakness in my knees and joints. Even the words, “Trump presidency,” made my bottom Kegel itself into a cramped tennis ball of flesh and veins. Since then, sports and Kardashians are the only two electronic pleasures I’ve allowed back into my life.

It’s going to be a long four years, but I’m going to try with all my being to not let this man’s face or the mugs of his gargoyle sons seep into my daily consciousness. 

I hope we all can. God bless America, indeed.