I can not express how fucking horrible it is to know that Donald J. Trump is representing this country.  I look fondly on interviews with George W—that Rascal—with his complete sentences and civility.

It’s been rough here for everyone. Trump lovers are dismayed that our deep state government is preventing him from getting anything accomplished and of course the media never has anything nice to say. Gee I wonder why?

I found great solace at the Woman’s March and the Climate March both of which I traveled to DC to attend. Surrounding myself with like minded righteously indignant Americans exercising their 1A Right to Peaceful Assembly and make super kickass posters was the only time I’ve felt at all hopeful since the election.

After the climate march in April, I splurged on tickets to see Alan Cumming’s cabaret act at the Kennedy Center. It was so joyful. I felt like I was part of the taking back of some American humanity that is slipping away on the gold lame tube top America is wearing. All it took was a weekend in the Fairfield Inn in Chinatown and $75 concert tickets to feel just a little better.

Then I remembered what being an American is really about: buying shit.

As fate would have it, my Chase United Explorer credit card had upped my credit limit and I was thusly obliged to acknowledge their kindness. I got online and found the most anti-Trump, liberal weirdo thing I could do and I bought it. I bought a weekend workshop at the Omega Institute for Holistic Studies in New York. Fuck Yeah!

I indulged in a writing workshop, a weekend cabin, lots of quinoa salads and a shamanic healing. Take THAT, GOP! I’m a capitalists, too. It was everything I could have paid for and more. It was the earthy, slightly damp, exhausting working vacation I needed. Who needs a weekend at a beach when you can spend every second of your vacation learning something? And when you do have 20 extra minutes, the Ram Dass library is on site (and it is shaped like a lotus flower). Also, great cold brewed coffee and a totally awesome gift shop.

Sure, the vile pustules that have become my Nation’s leaders are still there doing the repugnant  work of vile pustules but dude my chakras are tight! My health insurance pays for chiropractic AND massage. Boom! My essential oil diffusers are on full blast and I’m fine for whatever crazy WWIII crap is heading our way.