Play-by-Play of Malcolm & Marie
Already I can’t
Highlights the crew first
Love that
Jen Malone do I know her
Sam Levinson
Need a profile photo peeing in heels ASAP
God I love a man who dances unencumbered
She’s too thin but so would I be for this
CIGS!
With a fire starter haha
Man’s blabber eye roll but a good story / makes a point / okay, it’s after a premiere
Everything about life involves race tbh
And shame and guilt plays a huge part
Also I get wanting to stop making it about that, like GET over it already, catch up
“Not everything I do is political bc I’m black”
Amen. Being a representative sucks.
He is very scared. I understand this. But he could be honest. He’s just insecure. Anyone would be. Movie premiere!
She’s sick of being his absorbent material
This has happened many times, she’s dulled by it, too oversaturated by it, I can tell
He remembers her all of a sudden, eye roll
But also it was his night, but, priorities man
Also he isn’t aware she does not want sex of any kind
Duh dude read the room
All about him
You can’t read her
He is the one picking at her
She’s annoyed at YOU, sir, and at how she’s feeling about being at your events, for you
Why is he antagonizing her - idiot
He is insecure
And so is she maybe but less so
YOU are being annoying, that’s all
You don’t want to talk about her feelings
You want to talk about YOU and that’s all
YEP
She called you out
Oh my god — he didn’t thank her
Of course she’s serious wtf
And she’s right. You should feel bad.
It’s too late. You did it. It’s done.
It’s so easy. And not crazy.
She didn’t want to ruin your night. Even though you ruined hers. And you clearly take her for granted — and in public.
Oh Christ. And now we’re discussing cheating.
And it was about HER life?!!!! FUUUCK.
But she made you dinner. And you ate it.
And now you call her UNSTABLE.
And you decide to double down. And insult.
And now it’s NOT BASED ON HER
She’s delusional — but he’s the one shouting out aimlessly alone in a room loudly
Abuse
Yes
Yes
Yes
THANK YOU
STOP EATING IT
NOT AT MY EXPENSE
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Literally everyone but me
Abuse me WHILE YOU eat my food
Casually
Your senses versus your agenda FUUUCK
(The dialogue makes me black out here)
Omg and look how they reference euphoria
Please don’t eat that mac and cheese and use words like amalgamation RN I can’t
WHO
....!!!!!!!!!!!....
My cousin??? Did he say Rick?
Too late
Way too late
You don’t get it
She is so far beyond this
What a dumb asshole honestly
Please DON’T TOUCH HER
God I hate men
He will
Jesus Christ
SHE JUST SAID SO AND YOU CLAIMED TO UNDERSTAND
NO KISSING SOUNDS NOW PLEASE
this is what we all feel we have to do
Good god. It’s tragic.
Also she loves him. An emotional terrorist.
Get off her, and honestly, if you’d notice her this would be so much more and easily
He sucks and she is still teaching him
(I do this) AAAHHHHHHHHH
Please stop laughing
She is disassociated but doesn’t know
She’s trying to recover herself and be a sport but he’s taking from her still - he has no idea what he’s done and won’t
She is still talking trying to control the outcome that is evident and not enough
Oh man ouch object lesson
She is burning herself out now
She doesn’t know she is
We are expected
This is expected of us
They won’t do it
We have to
We’ll die from it
He puts her down at every moment
He exists, not her
But she feels seen by him
fuuuuuuuuuckkkkk
She needs a fire starter again
I get it
She is replete
Deplete
He is relaxed, relieved
She is emptied
This is normal
This is fucking always and depressing
He has NO CLUE
Still riding on her efforts,
confused why she’s gone
Learned helplessness
She was and is not PLAYING, ASSHOLE
He “gets” to be shocked, stunned
No
Stop saying her name
Again, it’s all for him
To feel like he tried
She is so accurate
He is SO DENSE
NOT WHEN IT BORDERS ON INDIFFERENCE
and.... now he puts her down
Patronizes her
He’s suddenly slightly right - but it’s unfair- but he is partly, and he goes for it
Shit
But so mean about it
He asked that of her
And now he blames her for his mistakes
He is truly terrible
Now he’s doubling down, meanness
The opposite of effective
He thinks he has a right to yell at her
He fucked up
He is a cop out
She never said those things
He helped her
But he’s holding it against her
He is not making her Mac and cheese
He lost this one
She doesn’t want to win
She wants him to win her
And it’s not hard to do
Fucking asshole
HERE SHE COMES
He used her
Let this woman speak
Forever, don’t stop
His eyes cutting like that
SO HE CAN LISTEN?!!!!!
SPEAK, woman!!! I die
GIVE ME A BREAK
YOUR MEDIOCRE ASS
TOO LATE
It’s embarrassing and it’s cruel and
it makes me regret sharing so much with you
He’s muttering some nonsense in reply
She tells him off perfectly
It never makes a difference
The gains are momentary at maximum
Undress in a self righteous cloud. Run a bath. Feel clear/spoken, finally. Look hot.
He kicks rocks.
No change.
Try to relax and unwind.
He won’t allow it.
Latches onto the wrong thing.
Yep.
His ego only. Got it.
She says what she means.
You can’t take it.
You only heard one part.
Not the right part.
You aren’t listening.
That’s not what she said.
You are irrational. You ruined your night.
You DID HURT MY FEELINGS.
I hate him.
SPEAKING OF IOUs - FUUUUUCKKKK!!!!!!
Oh, and now we’re threatening her
Physically
Sexually
Psychically
Minimizing her importance
Making memories meaningless
Telling her she doesn’t matter
Naked photos of other women
Calling her meaningless in life
GREAT, yeah
Her just taking it, her skin a shield
Stiffly bracing in the bath
Her body is a fortress, an empty shell now
Being bombed and disrespected
Yeah, call her names - nice one
Point out your abuse and call it her problem
You are nothing to be proud of
She is not proud of you, I assure you
She just went to your movie premiere about her
Yep, call her selfish
Break her
Don’t belie how much you need her for you
And then..... tell her you love her.
She is dead.
Dead.
Please go away.
Oh yeah, you really give of yourself
Oh yeah, this apology is so true
Oh thank you, for staying up so late for this
Oh yeah, this is really special
Oh man, this feels great, love a beating
The poetry at this point, so spot on, thanks
Wow, I feel incredible
So bulldozed
Like, raped
Used
Humiliated
It’s great
And now I worry I went too far
And I’m in your house
And I love this bathtub
And this wallpaper
Where did he go now
What can she do now
Now that she’s overdrawn
She gave too much
Let too much in
Had to brace he aerated her whole being
Eviscerating on purpose with feeling
Violently
It’s a scary place to be
Surrender
Playing possum
Being cool
But it’s just fatigue
It’s just emptiness seeing stars throbbing
It’s just a bloody aftermath of abuse
Now she has to be cute
Sweet
Musical
Childlike
Adorable
Innocent
Singing
Showing HIM it’s safe, you see
She is rejected
He walks out
She is like, what went this wrong
He is like, everyone is a bitch to me
Here we go
She comforts him
It’s situational, you see
This has to put the argument aside, you see
She has to calm him down
She knows what he needs
He STILL does not give a shit about her
YOU ARE EXHAUSTING NOT HER
when you’re insecure everything is harsh
Zendaya’s butt is so cute!
He’s so loud and blatantly annoying
Please shut up
SO NOW YOU ARE BEING POLITICAL??
Your loudness is not necessary
She’s right, also, that critic saw how you are at home - apparently it’s visible
I thought it was a good review
“Weatherwoman” - so PC, now
He is an idiot
You are a man
Please be quiet
Honestly
She has gone deaf by now
Who can absorb this much
No one
What a child
He is very needy
Please. Please be quiet.
Algiers. Who the fuck knows.
Did he do coke now? Am I????!
Non. Sense.
She said it was a masterpiece, dude.
FUUUUUUCKKKKKKKKK
She is desensitized. She is a beaten dough.
Her face is beaten in at this point.
This is called noise pollution.
She is not there. She could be anyone. But also, it’s for her. He wants HER to hear this.
This isn’t love.
This isn’t art.
This isn’t imagination.
This isn’t religion.
This isn’t even an opinion.
This is ejaculation. By force. She has to endure it, soothe him.
She has to be cool.
Now she gets to make him feel silly. This is her only route. Her only outlet. Her only value, now she gets to teach him again.
Great. Now she’s so helpful. Wise. Again.
She is so beyond spent. No repayment.
Now she only has insults. And she’s right. But it’s all she has. It’s all she ever had.
She’s back to truth telling. She needs them to be teammates. And she took the mileage.
Now she wants to kiss him. She’s tired. But she’s back in charge. Can’t waste it.
Now the plan is he gets laid.
No consciousness. No consensus. No consequences.
UGH.
She knows. And it feels powerless. Endless.
He’s a good man. I should feel lucky. But what he did was wrong. And if I say so, .....
He sighs.
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuckkkkkk.
She is right. Again.
NO, and oh my god please, god, have mercy
She never gave that to him
He took it anyway
She lays herself open
She is telling the truth.
He shits in the open cavity
Yet. Again.
What a shitty bad person
Yeah, now you call her names
Put her down
She is angry
Her anger keeps her alive
She is right
About all of it
She is right
She is right
All I have to offer is authenticity
And that’s anything less than incredible?
He is vomiting bad nonsense badly
Please
It’s embarrassing now
No, she hates you more
Sorry dude
You lose
And you call her crazy, that’s great
Great.
She smokes. With a flame thrower.
What are one’s options at 2am?
FUUUUUICKKKKKKKKKKK
HE CAN ROT
she agrees
She is so far past her threshold
She is lying
She can’t bear it anymore
She is literally a torture victim
She is a wild animal - and still in control
He did this
She is a normal woman trying to stop being a normal woman in this normal world
THIS is what happens
I knew it.
She is right. She feels vindicated.
Yeah, put her down. Call it love.
Discuss marriage in this context, yeah.
Make this about “passion.”
Sure. Good idea. Make it all forgiven.
In one fell swoop.
Making getting by about safety, call it love
Keep murmuring subversively so that you don’t feel like you were complicit, condoning
Yeah, call her exhausting
While you want to marry her, fuck her, say it
She is exhausted
By her own efforts with you
And act offended that you sexualize women
WHILE you sexualize a woman in real time
While you talk like an academic
While you call women stupid
While you put women down
While you use a woman
And the woman critic hailing you
He has bad taste
He is a moron
It is who he is
And he’s considered a catch
She is right.
She is right.
Oh dear
Grimy animal
It’s true
He is a hog
Laugh at her, good idea
And now she is performing
Feeling some power somehow
Yeah, call her a slut and no standards
Good idea
Babe. Time to stop arguing with him.
Time
To
Go
You did more than your best. It’s time to go.
She is still talking. But it’s to convince him. To change his feelings. To control the end. To make it not happen. But without giving in.
It’s not venting
It’s politicking
Angling
Giving him a chance to make it right
While not feeling like a doormat
Stating a boundary you are dying to let him invalidate, if only he would admit it.
She is saying what he should have.
She is going his work. For him.
Giving him his words. As always.
He wants her to do this. And he doesn’t really care much. It is for him either way.
She begs him to do it himself for her but when he won’t she does it for him - telling herself it’s for her - again. She does it, she says it, so that someone will. He won’t.
He always asks this of her.
She always has to do it.
She has to say it for him. And he allows it.
It feels so low. So draining. So sad to say it.
She is a skeleton, a vapor of herself now.
Ask me how I know.
His stupid sacred words. Worthless now.
Scorched earth.
A distinctive terrain.
Routine is robotic. This is okay.
Compared to the last few hours, simple routine is hypnotic and comforting
The body is crying out for sleep. Normalcy. Safety. Regular. Just please, no more now.
We force down a crumb. Without consent.
It’s mandatory.
Please be gone. Please be gone.
Please please be gone. I know you aren’t.
I knew she was only away.
How can a destroyed person really leave
When there is nothing left to give
There is nowhere to go
Because how can you even tell what who how where anything anymore
You know it’s not okay so you go as far as you can
Which is not your call
It’s determined by the identity given to you
Because there is nothing left of you to be
It’s the best she can do
After what he does
And what she manages it’s a fucking lot
Even though everyone agrees she deserves more
Everyone agrees she should leave more
Especially her
But there is no more to have from or do with now
And it’s not going to miraculously get better
In this moment the focus is on her
Not his lashes, his fails, her lack of leaving
This moment is what a male director calls a reckoning
A fresh start
A statement on equal terms of a relationship
That tricky complex notion of two hearts
A new beginning
And that’s not what it is. At all.
It’s a graveyard. It’s a funeral.
At best, at very very best, it’s the stirrings of an awakening.
But no time soon.
Ask me how I know.
I Hate Donald Trump & How He Is Helping Me
It all begins with an idea.
UGHH, but first can we just start by agreeing Donald Trump is the worst, all partisanship aside? I actually feel kind of bad for regular run-of-the-mill conservative-ish moderates who simply want to be staid and boring and semi-selfish on their own time. I mean, they have no options right now. They’re just sitting there, trying to blend in and have a drink, while their party is deeply ruined by an embarrassing drunk trashing the place to high hell, and everyone’s looking at them, like, aren’t you going to do something - don’t you know that guy? Aren’t you with him? And they’re like, I know, but they don’t want to make it worse, so they sort of mumble something trailing off and clench up and look into their drink and shuffle their feet, waiting for it to be over. But enough about them. This is about what the worst president ever has made me see. In this one small but mighty way, he has truly been a gift.
I’m as surprised as you. See what you think.
Okay, so I once went through a painful, very enduring ending of an also-too-long-endured romantic relationship, one that I tragically treasured and deeply wanted to salvage, but for some dumpster fire events of which I could scarcely conceive, all the while trying to stay clear of the flames, go to work every day, have a little fun somewhere in there, and establish a healthy grounded grip on reality despite my secret life in Crazytown. That ingenious bit of acrobat-meets-contortionist, that wildly effortful combination of my own chosen actions, is no doubt a large part of what made all of it so excruciatingly painful, I admit. (Well... okay, that, but also the cheating, the lies, abandonment in the worst hours a woman can imagine, a charming narcissistic combo of sneaky and overt manipulation, coupled with the most poignant love story ever told (just as soon as things level out <weak laugh>) and raw passion everywhere you look, it was enough back and forth to potentially provide new fuel sources for the Green New Deal. Just doing my part to help us move forward as a planet.) Ah, those were the days, good times. No, but there really were some, and then there were the worst of times, and thus started all the uphill battles to try to get it back again.
As time wore on, as I tried everything to right the ship he repeatedly wrecked (and you know, it’s because I really liked that ship; it had these great original wood floors, vintage everything, naturally, the sweetest little stepson-to-be, a giant fluffy dog son, and ahem - a foxy lady at the helm), while saying things and doubling efforts once/twice/forever times, always spinning spinning, ugh, I found myself noticing that, essentially, I was saying only a few basic things to him. Welllll, ok, actually I was saying so so many words, emoting and conveying in every medium, language, and method of madness, with a focus on really angling in my messaging in brilliant new and novel ways — one lightbulb after another, I tell you — as in, this will finally get him to see!!! Yes!! — you know the feeling, the psycho buoyant energy of a new idea - aha! when you start to resemble one of those animated large-smiled wicked characters in a Disney film. But eventually, with the benefit of time and my good friend fatigue, I really did start to see that beneath the red hot temperatures, the hair tearing, the love notes, the moments of genuine affection, the laughing and all the crying (will I ever fully rehydrate?), in those acres of dialogue, in the lines of endless emails and texts and front porch yelling (yikes, too soon), there was a pared-down, simple loop of a few basic dare-I-say human rights and very reasonable communication requests, as follows:
Listen to me (followed by well-articulated facts and clear statements of how I feel)
Stop talking in place of listening to me (or arguing, threatening, leveraging, etc.)
Reflect on what I said and notice what has happened here (try to care, give a shit at all, etc.)
Change what you’re doing (something, anything, Lady Gaga, give me one reason, omg, SOS)
And I mean…. This went on... for years. Four years. Each time I would pause and stop the loop, out of breath, my guy didn’t hold the line; it was hopeless. I would stop, try to catch my breath for a second, and it felt like any progress I’d made just came rushing back on me, back to square one, nothing changed, nothing gained. I would stop the loop because I was so fucking tired of doing it all by myself, of hearing myself, of the whole mess. I suppose I just wanted a hug and no more awful and a warm cup of fantasy about how maybe things were improving. That didn’t happen. But it’s very hard to think in an existential wasteland when the guy in charge is promising it’s almost over, there’s nothing wrong, all is well if I would just cheer up and stop taking it all so seriously.
I started more closely examining my part, how I would plea from inside, achingly, heavenward, “Could he please see how I am hurting? I’m pointing to how and why what he did hurts, look, and if he could just not do that? Just… be kind? Stop lying? Care about things? Stay?” etc. And then I realized this: if he could — if he were the type of man who could be kind, caring, and so on — if he could pause in his mayhem and consider anything, anything at all, before, say, he called the woman he adored fat and ugly to my face in a moment of absolutely unrelated rage, and then, declaring himself victimized and mistreated by my subsequent withdrawal, demand I have sex with him right away or else he’ll leave me for the real or imagined other woman of the moment — if he could, then all of this awful would not have occurred in the first place. If he possessed the materials to be able to see, he would be capable of change. If he could do or be any of those things, any one of them, these results would have been different. For one thing, if he could, I could make him - somehow, I could. If he could stop or change any of it, even one part, he would not continue it on repeat, if just so that I would shut up and sit down. So, I was quietly forced to the logical conclusion endpoint — that, in fact, he could not. This truth aided me many times over the last several rounds in the ring, even if I didn’t always remember it right off the bat. Whenever I would walk down those same familiar stair steps of “if this, then that” logic-based thread of sanity — there it was, each time, ultimately: “No, he can’t.”
Therefore, if we use this blunt logical wisdom and apply its basis to our lives, it holds that all pieces of the game touching the “can’t” reality must necessarily also be can’ts. Shitty but true. (And listen, you can argue and tangle with this if you want to — I get it, I’m an old pro, been there zillions of times myself, no judgment here — but it’s like a drop of food coloring in a clear glass of water. Eventually the whole glass is tainted, as it slowly unfurls and dissipates color tendrils everywhere, and I can slowly watch this to come to pass, fingers crossed, ah! new ideas again!, but then the end of Romeo and Juliet is the same every time, goddamnit…. or I can skip to the end.) He can’t. So. The life I wanted with him: can’t happen. The working on me while I try to get through to him: can’t be successful. The efforts to maneuver myself so his can’t doesn’t hurt me: can’t solve it. The focus on my career: for sure can’t happen. Doing therapy with someone who can’t: cannot be done.
Once again, fatigue. But this time, it’s more of an uncle moment of surrender. White flag, man. Me and the answer, sitting together, face to face, quietly. I’m me, he’s him, and the two of us comprise the we. We, by definition, requires both of us. So if he can’t, then I guess we can’t. It’s somehow not about blame, either, it’s cleaner than that. It’s not accusatory, it’s just a relative assessment of items, a linear observation. It’s just… math. You know?
A friend of mine - a whip smart, no mincing of words, politico Twitter type - who has long held a pithy shorthand that Republicans are just dumber than other people — said to me recently (almost musingly, except that she doesn’t talk that way, but stated factually and without charge) that anyone who likes Donald Trump is an abuse victim. “Maybe I’m just saying that because it gives me some amount of compassion for them,” she said. “It’s better than thinking they’re all stupid and mean.”
We were both, like everyone, positively reeling from that first debate when she said this, so I didn’t fully absorb it at first. Like the rest of the world, I was triggered as fuck after the first debate, blitzed and hung over from being horrified, so like, yeah, I could identify that he was nuclear hatred and toxic slime in human form, and that I felt it in my own tender sliced-open heart when Joe Biden’s face computed what he’d actually heard that terrible made-up fake human say out loud, and all that... but it was also a big huge expanse of a nameless, spiraling sort of mosquito net feeling that I didn’t fully realize I was caught up in until it passed a day or two later. Recounting it all with her, she said again, “what we saw onstage was abusive behavior.” And that time, I heard it, loud and clear. It was!
Any mental health professional out there working in 2020 already knows - pssh all too well - that Trump triggers people, and I have no doubt that there are many differing explanations and reasons and why and how for everyone. I’ve heard of this from different people, and while I believe it’s true, I’d never really tried to identify the specifics of why it is all so hard for me. I thought at first maybe it’s that he actually sounds like my basis-of-years-in-therapy dad when he talks. Like so much so, in his tone and turn of phrase and intonation, all of that, and so maybe that’s what it is that lights up scary electrical currents in my heart, because I seriously don't want to hate my father the way I hate this man. Or hey, I thought maybe it was the broad-sweeping agenda of hating and killing non-white, non-straight, non-rich people I love and admire, individually and categorically. I mean, that would be enough, right?
Then something happened, and I got it. I get it — completely, clearly, lucidly — now, and this is the freaking diamond at the end of that horrible coal squeeze prison of lunacy from hell we’re all ready to escape from for forever.
Okay, so here’s the story. My birthday is a big deal. It’s in October, I love it, it’s a whole thing. Literally anyone who knows me in any form or from any distance is aware of this very genuine heartfelt fact. My previously mentioned relationship, covered in battle wounds and somehow still crawling around like a killer in a horror movie who simply will not die and leave us in peace, had been put on ice by my “can’t” math equation over the summer. Yay. Further, with the strange virtue of COVID’s personal space requirement and the whole world closed up and in lockdown, we hadn’t talked to or seen each other in months, and he couldn’t come over or try to pressure me in the same ways he had before. It was like the social distancing and masks were somehow a personal insult to him, so he stayed away, and that was a relief. Even in moments when I’d miss the nice parts of him, which I did — hello, extra time on our hands — the stress of the whole was still a clear no. I have to say, the math formula was really holding down the fort in a time of so much uncertainty and family loss and health crises and police killings and white nationalists and oh, always ever more Donald Trump madness unleashed into the world. So anyway, my birthday came and went, and it was a truly lovely affair, simple and safe, a few close friends hanging outside, and there was a tulle skirt and twinkle lights and loads of wine involved, so I was happy. There was also endless mirth and hilarious witty banter about how TRUMP GOT COVID JUST IN TIME FOR MY BIRTHDAY, hahaha - e.g., what it all would mean, memes for days, all the jokes, constant refreshing of the twitter feed, you know — it was good stuff. Happy birthday to me.
So you can imagine my surprise, along with the rest of the nation, when, several weeks later, Trump and all his cronies he infected, well, they’d healed up just fine, don’t you know, continued to make no plans to deal with the pandemic, kept on being a calamitous network of truly heinous crimes against humanity, and — on the night of the second debate — I got an Instagram friend request and a couple of niceties in my DMs from, you guessed it, him.
First of all, Instagram. You might be thinking, a relationship of that magnitude, that’s his chosen medium? An over 40-year-old, really, to reach out that way? I get it, and I agree, what a dipshit. But yes, and I’m not surprised. He has always been highly obsessed with social media because he cares very very much about his image and likes and pretend comradery and how much strangers think of him and his posts. He can’t sustain real depth or actual valuable personal relationships, but he can be very prolific online. I know, it’s gross. (Sound familiar at all?)
Second of all, the timing of it. The fact that it was a few weeks after my birthday and the day after the second debate was at first not something I noticed, but it makes total sense as well. He has done this before, where he’ll blow up a huge bomb (like, idk, have an affair or cancel a trip or just disappear entirely) just before a holiday or event of any significance to me so that he can dodge it all, hurt me in that very special place you can’t reach in any other way than ruining beautiful plans for no reason at the last second so that I have to cry and either do them alone or not at all, and then come back later, after I’ve healed and finally started walking again, emotionally. However, I digress; the part about it being just after the second debate is really more of what I want to focus on for the moment.
I did things differently for the second debate after the massacre of the first one. (I know! Growth, people!) For one thing, I went and cast my vote in advance of the second debate. That was helpful. Go Joe. Kamala Harris went ahead and kept on being a dream, a gem, a warrior for all that is good in the interim, and that was a beautiful shot in the arm as well. I was more intentional about my health choices, too, after months of wine administered so consistently it could've been intravenous and a constant degree of internal tension that was quite actually tearing me down inside, and so, I did a few things. First, I took the time to actually decide whether I wanted to watch the debate (rather than the typical of course I will/ suffering is love/ Pied Piper thing), and when I decided that I did, to do so while making a relatively fancy (for me) dinner to have something wholesome and normal to focus on and not mainlining wine for the sole purpose of managing my nail-biting wall-crawling panic like last time. All of these things helped. Plus, the mute button addition - that did, too. When he started out with slightly less crazy right out in front, I was unfooled. I knew it was only a matter of time. I know his kind. Give them only a few minutes, if you must; they will blow. And so, right on time, there he went, first leaking then full blast with the lies and distraction and whining.
I’ve gotten so clear on why I voted for Joe Biden (even in a red state that stands no chance at contributing to his electoral count) - namely, to eradicate Donald Trump from my public sector - that the homina-homina frenzy exploding from his ugly orange face shifted into a new pace. A loud, slow final count, each moment serving as one more steady pound of more, and then more, satisfyingly solid nails in his coffin. It solidified. A direct message that I’m done here. It wasn’t a deluge of swirly fear, ear-splitting insanity with no end. It was nails. Nailed in. Bam. <calmly lowers hammer, dusts off palms of hands, job well done style, puts on sunglasses, goes about business>
So when dudeface of my life sent me IG messages, all formal (a chastened churchboy, you understand, imploring energy, you need to believe him) to tell me things like how great I look in my photos, that “42 looks good on me” (barf), how he loves me (ouch - sorry, it’s true), has always loved me, misses me all the time, thinks of me every moment of every day (presumably when not with his harem of always-potentials), homina homina, etc., I felt…. (waiting for the usual apprehension and muddled confusion to hit, that messed up mixture of happiness to see him on one hand, immediately ruined and dragged down by the realization that oh yeah, he skipped out on my BIRTHDAY on purpose, feeling a little sad at that involuntary motor of efficiency kick in from years of constantly sorting bullshit from reality, trying to find some golden thread of truth to save the day, that could make it okay, the fast processing but slow absorption of incredibly obvious lies - hello, sir, um, go look at your own photos on your own account that you asked me to follow at your own request and tell me again how she’s “only a friend” - the mighty pushback in my soul from not going to take it, ugh, rage from just the injustice of it, yet again).... nothing.
Donald Trump has so completely laid out the world’s largest points, this guy is now child's play.
Pieces of all this have been gathering and coming together for a while now, in hindsight: Michelle and Barack’s speeches, my friend saying the abuse thing, favorite podcasts, personal moments with friends - not to mention the ongoing onslaught of so much bad and wrong and awful from the lack of or outright evil leadership of everyone affiliated with Donald Trump and his ways. But you never do know when that final piece will show up, the one that really lands the plane and brings it all together. It was this past Sunday night for me, the catching up on loose ends of the week known as DVR night. New York Governor Andrew Cuomo was being interviewed on A Late Show, and there it was. My last piece had arrived — and I was stunned. As in, I’m tempted to attach video clips of his commentary so you can see what I mean. Cuomo was asked about Donald Trump and his abject failure with the coronavirus, and you guys, Cuomo lifted exact verbiage, and I mean actual lengthy phrases and sentences, from my furious heartbroken emails and texts and front porch yelling IN HIS ANSWER ON T.V. *Exact. Verbiage.* Right there in front of me, all the math, all spelled out. This guy quoted my conclusion verbatim, I’m not even kidding, but in short saying <clearing throat, are you even ready>: if he could do it, if he could have done it, he could have changed everything; I know, we keep asking, but if he could do it, then he could have done it before, or now - but he can’t. He can’t. He can’t, he couldn't, he can’t; and so anything involving him can’t, either. It can’t. We can’t.
It’s done. Nailed. Bam.
The exact methodology of these two men — there it was! The flow of how and why they react, down to the selection of words or blustery lack thereof, the timing and tactics from A to B to C — I mean, the resemblance is uncanny. And when I look at myself and people like me, the way we in each case watch and get sucked in and feel insane and don’t know how to stop the madness — there it is. It looks just like a duck. It’s walking. It’s quacking. It’s like those projector laminated sheets from elementary school, placed just exactly one on top of the other, and the parallels and overlaps in behavior, actions, patterns are evident, blown up so the whole class can see.
While the degree of obvious simpatico tracking and like-minded thoughts by me and the hunky NY gent does blow my mind, what I’m saying is this: Donald Trump is so awful, so triggering, so reminiscent of every painful abusive moment any of us have ever had, that the strength and presence of mind — the hallmark first thing to go in abuse and trauma situations — to be done and walk away and say no, I’m out of here, godspeed, and feel peace, that certainty I feel about Donald Trump is helping me use my own math on the other abusive forces in my life.
The very best part of all is the vibe of the math itself. Oh god, the feeling is enough, on its own! It has a natural effervescence, a clean finish, a tidy impartial mood filled to the brim with grounded logic and authentic predictable good sense. What a kindness, what extravagance, even, it is to have abiding simplicity offered and consistently available, is it not?? The vibe is everything, I tell you. When my IG inbox was filling up with disinformation and wheedling and out of place outsized compliments, a veritable tide of misdirection, that felt to me precisely like Donald Trump in that second debate. I wasn’t mad or riled up or thrown into a vortex of emotional quicksand. I was like, hmm, what is he saying now, and can he hear himself? but in an unagitated way. I felt like myself. Oh, to breathe a sweet breath of serenity and self fidelity. The math — as applied and shown to me in very large block letters on a national scale by Donald Trump and Andrew Cuomo — makes sense. It’s not militant, and I don’t hate you anymore, and I’m not upended or disheveled again; it’s simply a no for me. That’s my vote, plain and simple.
Now. Am I passionate and outraged at the content and impact of all the lies and terror and criminal activity and apparent ceaseless ignorance with zero effort to be good? Of course. But am I set on fire and run through by all the pain so dear to me? No. But I had been. I wondered, why was it so easy to stay clear in a national election when I for so long could not in my own home, when the two ducks walk and quack in exactly the same way?? I believe it comes down to the feeling of safety to speak out, transparency and due process, and most of all, community. In the darkness of at-home domestic disputes, as a child or a woman, if power is wielded and humanity disrespected, the world feels too small and too big, all at the same time. Everything feels dangerous and scary, high stakes, and that's real. This is how the actual world is going now, too, and it’s all too real — but there are so many of us in this home. No one is alone, and while each voice is part of a much larger whole, each voice matters equally. Form and structure give me a sense of safety, yes, but I needed to feel the trust of shared experience. This is essential.
I see now that it's the sense of community that has given my math solution a warm heartbeat. Its life force and staying power is the vital energy I needed to lift me out of the cycle. Because underneath the details of a love life or a federal government, the responsibility to act with care and respect is the same. The support and context and representation of seeing your opinion, your feelings, mobilized in numbers across the nation is really something — and all the voices speaking out against Donald Trump stabilize and clarify my math, in a way that’s not as easy to come by inside my much smaller private life. The sheer numbers help me balance and realign, the loads of perspective and validation and conversation give safety, and I’m not doing it alone. Community is what counteracts and dismantles that rooted message that his disasters are mine to fix. Honest discourse, you see, reveals political dogma — um, HI, guys??, the emperor is not wearing any clothes!!! Hellloooooo!! Hi there! Yep, right here! When applied behind closed doors, though, it gets in, always meant to suppress voter turnout, dodge accountability, and keep us confused and yet someone complicit, invested, on the line — “privacy,” so as to keep those powers in place.
And as for sadness about all this, if you’re interested, I have noticed this. The thing about the sadness is that it’s only allowed in the spaces right between me setting a boundary and when (not if) he retaliates. Because that intersection of sadness has something to do with hope, that rub of a painful past, a moment to see change, and disappointment. I find it’s the fear of the sad, and the sad itself, that keeps me stuck in that space, but it’s only open until they react. And they do. With cruelty, with no love at all. Then it’s not sad anymore. It turns to pure math, burns to ash, with some sort of ancient wisdom backing it or something. It’s tragic, but it’s not sad in the same way. There is an alchemy: the fearful feeling of “but I don't know what’s next, what will I do” I said back there in the stuck place, well, post-mathtime, stay with me now, the more times I say “but I don’t know what’s next, what will I do,” what with the math vibes all over it, there’s a shimmery sliver of slippery sparkliness on “what will I do” when I’m mathed up, and it actually makes a different sound attach to those very same words, like, ooh maybe I want to come see, transforming that sentiment before my very eyes, and before I know it, maybe, I don’t know, a tiny soft glimmer of an emerging smile might involuntarily start flickering on the corners of my mouth. Math nerds, let’s go!
So, I invite you go check out Donald Trump stories in a whole new way. Get clear on the hell no. Do the math. Then, inside that solid place of clarity, just dare a few other whiffs of nonsense to come your way. It’s kind of fun.
I swear to God, Donald Trump is curing abuse victims of further involvement in the abuse cycle. Disengagement is the only actionable solution to abuse, followed by clear decisions, consistent safe leadership, and supported direction with people we trust. Studies show this; this we know. And it sounds good, right? In government and in marriage, what a great plan... just disengage, do it, let’s get this party started, woo yeah, all of it, I know… But if it seems simple, that’s only how it looks from the outside. If walking away in a situation was easy and doable, everyone would do it. It’s not easy. The reasons why are many, insidious by design, and they run deep, for me and I’d guess for anyone. The process to the way out is also very personal, filled with all sorts of holdups, dustups, and complicated twists and turns. Basically… Everything involved is illogical and bafflingly powerful and dangerous and sticky as hell — it gets all over everything. It’s impossible to know which way is up, no matter what people tell you.
But you know what? Donald Trump is so bad, logic is the answer. He is so bad, banding together broadly and standing with conviction is the only way out. Finding next right steps, when desperation has reached fever pitch, nationally and internationally, a pandemic, wildfires, a reckoning of the value of the many human lives he’d just as soon dismiss; suddenly the path forward becomes more clear, and then we can show each other, show up and support one another, to get there together. Maybe a larger than life asshole is here to help us see — this model portrait of everyone’s trauma, all rolled up tight into one impossible worst nightmare of a man who has been placed in charge of ruining absolutely everything. In a way, he’s like a grand equalizer, showing us so much terrible that we just got all we need to see exactly how to get free and clear inside.
It’s math.
He can’t. So we can’t.
Elect for more. An act, indeed, of election.
Go vote. Vote him out.
(Because... fuck that guy. He had every chance. You know?)