How I learned to stop worrying and love the president

The past two mornings I’ve awoken with scattered thoughts of the president and then turned on the TV to see him talking to me. Today it happened a good four hours earlier than it should have (my non-work sleep schedule is from 4 a.m. to noon). Waking up in the middle of a sleep with sickening concerns about the next four years and then turning on the TV for relief, only to see him there is not fun. I started to worry that this was turning into a neurosis, this hate and spite and poison I can’t stop carrying for this president, even after the election is over. I can’t do this for four more years.

So I started to wonder, exhausted, if I can just submit. Concede and forgive. Embrace this administration that the majority of the country now unmistakably wants. A lot of people I highly respect, respect him. Maybe I can try. He’s charmed the pants off of America, and I guess I can see it. He’s resolute, firm, but likeably goofy. He knows what he wants to do and doesn’t let up. If I can’t agree with him, can I at least accept him? Support him? The other option is four more years of waking up to anger and outrage.

For the second day in a row, I watched him first thing in the morning and this time tried to let my guard down. He’s calmer now, cockier. He teases the press corp, both good naturedly and mean-spirited. He blames them for the divisiveness in the country. He refers to one reporter’s beady eyes, calls another “Big Stretch,” one of his notorious disarming/degrading nicknames. “Nice try,” he responds to one question. Nixon’s flaws brought him down. This president’s flaws have earned him the mandate of the people. But I don’t want this to be a rant.

I looked at that smile of his and desperately wanted to not hate him anymore. Not to be so angry anymore. It’s all over. We lost. This is the way it’s going to be; I have to learn to look at the man and not be so angry. But all I can think: 100,000 dead, innocent civilians. 1,000 dead Americans. The slow, eventual holocaust of global warming. My state’s joblessness. The new American policy of torture. The fear of the entire world. Many will say that anger isn’t a sincere emotion – it’s secondary, a mask (which makes me wonder what Toby Keith has under his). And in a sleepy haze, it became very clear that the question was not whether I can stop hating George W. Bush, but whether I can stop fearing him.

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