Not in my blog. Not elsewhere. But sometimes, like a suppressed scream, it just bursts out.
I found Michael Cohen, columnist for the Boston Globe, screaming words just for me this morning. I borow them. Here he is:
My overriding emotion was less happiness and more relief. It’s not an exaggeration to say that for the past five-and-a-half years, Donald Trump lived in my head. I conservatively estimate that I’ve written more than half a million words about Trump since 2015 – probably more.
I would look at my Twitter feed obsessively to see the latest thing that he had said and usually shake my head in revulsion. Even Tuesday night, with the end of his presidency in sight, I was still checking to see who he had pardoned in his last grubby, corrupt act as president.
I grew to not just dislike Trump, but to actively loathe him in a way that often made me uncomfortable. For the last two months, since he was defeated for reelection I wanted nothing more than to simply ignore him. Above all, what I wanted is to never think of the man again.
I’ll take a deep breath.
I’ll shift to the wonderful image and voice of our new 22 year old Poet Laureate.