The morning after

Today did not dawn, it crept in with a muzzy-headed, blurry-eyed fashion some time between a final disbelieving 2 a.m. check of the iPad and the unwanted buzz of the alarm.

Kip was scratching to be liberated from the bedroom where Faye, 14, lay under the usual lump of bedclothes, oblivious to the dog and the new political realities waiting to twist their way into her consciousness. For another hour she could snooze believing that Hillary had made history and given the lie to an ugly campaign that demeaned women and anyone who strayed from Trump’s perversion of normal.

Coffee, though welcome, provided no clarity. The Facebook feed filled up fast with the stunned realizations of those who had slept through Michigan and Pennsylvania, who hadn’t witnessed the tell-all crumbling of the rust belt states and the collapse of the so-called blue wall. Attempts at humour fell flat, displaced by outrage that a lifelong grifter and misogynist had stoked a simmering electorate resentment into a blazing path to the White House.19711_10155625769095179_2164596877430497205_n

Morning pressed on. At 7:30, I nudged Faye awake.
“Trump won.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is. I’m sorry.”
Routine took over – Rice Crispies, a shower, getting dressed for work and school. Faye fretted about being late as she fiddled with mascara she has only recently deemed essential.

The first day in this strange new world order is nearly done. The ceiling is made of glass; we are not. Perhaps sleep will come easier tonight.

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