Day thirteen (again)

Yesterday I found a great reason to go to the gym. After I did my rounds on the weight machines and my floor exercises, I spent five minutes kicking the punch bag. And I mean really kicking it. This didn’t stop Dickhead being the President of the United States, but it did make me feel better.

At roughly 12:30pm yesterday, when the first of the President Dickhead posts appeared on my Facebook home page (news that one minute after the swearing in all mention of climate change, LGBT rights, human rights and civil rights disappeared from the White House website),  I knew it was just the beginning of a biblical flood. I decided I needed to take at least a week off Facebook and bade my friends a temporary goodbye. I also avoided watching all news yesterday, because I just couldn’t take it.

I know sticking my head in the sand cannot prevent the shit storm that is already starting, but, honestly, I need some time.

When I got back from the gym, I went onto YouTube to find and watch footage from the previous evening’s anti-Dickhead rally in New York. It did make me smile, but did it make me feel any better? Not really.

I suppose there is some consolation to be had from the fact that the Republican congress was forced to withdraw its first piece of legislation this year (shutting down the independent ethics office overseeing congressmen) due to phones ringing off the hook as the public expressed their outrage.

Perhaps the Democrats can successfully play the Tea Party game. Perhaps, as Michael Moore suggested at Thursday night’s rally, if enough people took the time to call their Congressman and Senators on an almost daily basis, some of the awful laws about to be proposed (or good laws about to be overturned) can be stopped (or saved). I don’t know. If I was an American who could call these elected representatives I could at least feel as if I was doing something. The rest of the world just has to watch and wait.

Last night I did something I haven’t done in quite a while – and not a good thing. After dinner I checked to see what I had recorded on the PVR for later viewing. News on Al Jazeera? No. There would be too much coverage of the inauguration of President Dickhead. Rachel Maddow? Absolutely not. Later in the evening I was recording The Daily Show and the return of Bill Maher. Nope, couldn’t do it. There is no joy in Mudville. Obama has checked out.

The day before I’d picked up a DVD of a British police series from the library. I’d been planning to watch it over the weekend, but decided I needed the diversion sooner than that. By the time I’d watched the three episodes on the first disc it was 12:30am. Right. Time to go to bed with my book. Wrong. Well, maybe one more episode? Wrong again. I was up until gone 3:30am, watching all three remaining episodes.

Don’t get me wrong. It was a good show (the second series of Line of Duty) and I really did want to know what was going to happen next. But I have been down this path before and I know there be dragons.

Now that, thanks to Catherine, I once again have a functioning wi-fi router, I was thinking perhaps I should cancel HBO and the Movie Network (you can’t get one without the other) on my cable subscription and re-subscribe to Netflix, which would save me a few bucks a month in these belt-tightening times. Last night reminded me that there is a reason I keep cancelling Netflix: there be dragons (not to mention Buffy the Vampire Slayer).

I am suddenly reminded of that wonderful Oscar Wilde line: “Everything in moderation, including moderation.” Thank god I am not an alcoholic or a drug addict. Given my lack of self-restraint at times over the past few years, I’d be truly penniless and homeless by now. In fact I’d probably be dead. (Bit alarming that as soon as I’d typed that last sentence, I just shrugged. Dead? Could be worse.)

Okay, I really need to remember where the hell I put my dragon slaying sword. Then I need to go and kick that punch bag some more.