It’s still possible Trump will lose. As I write this, it’s still possible. But so what? The brutal reality that all I have to cling to, after four appalling years of unbelievably mendacious, incompetent, disastrous, and deliberately inhumane misrule, is that there’s still a chance, is about all I need to know. Mitch will be back. Lindsay Graham will be back. Susan Collins will be back. Trump is on stage right now claiming that he’s already won, and announcing that he’s going to SCOTUS to get the counting stopped – with millions of votes still to be counted. In the White House. Using the people’s house as a campaign venue. With dozens of unmasked spectators in attendance, COVID be damned.
The Senate will not flip – well, that’s how it looks. If Mitch still runs the Senate, nothing much matters anyway.
The American people, whatever the outcome, have proved themselves pathetically and contemptibly unworthy of their inheritance, and perhaps unbearable to watch any longer. I think every properly motivated observer expected a decisive repudiation of Trumpism today. That’s now off the table. Biden may squeak out a victory, but no matter, or so it seems at this bleak hour. It should be over by now. That it isn’t, after everything that’s happened, is insane. Insane.
I may be done with this. I don’t know. If Trump wins, if Mitch stays in the driver’s seat, I don’t know.
Maybe things will look better when the Sun is up.
the needlefish 