The Weight of Water

by Tom Swift

I do not want to see Donald Trump impeached.

I do want the president punished in accordance with the law based on accepted fines, personal restrictions, and standard punishments for whatever, and however many, crimes he has committed.

I have no faith in the moral sense of Congressional Republicans.

I do not have high hopes for our nation at this time.

I had the thought last night that it would not surprise me to learn of a takeover of the White House by a foreign government or organization.

I am aware to many that sounds absurd, paranoid, or both.[1]

I don’t know who, by name or even in a general sense, I want to run for president. I do not know — I struggle to conjure — the figure who could restore what has been lost. To repair the damage that has been done. Simply being someone other than Trump, no, that won’t do.

The only person that comes to mind is Michelle Obama.[2]

I am aware that is not going to happen.

It has been raining for most of the last 18 hours. The forecast calls for more rain throughout the day today and into the evening.

The remnants of record snowfalls remain in every yard and on every street in my state.

I cannot currently drive my car down the alley I traverse in order to get to work. I may get stuck in a rut filled with water. I may scrape off the undercarriage of my car on a ridge of raised ice.

Rivers are rising.

Basements are filling.

Why does the body produce water when you are sad?

 

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[1] What do you expect on the Internet?

[2] Can you imagine her on stage debating Trump? Oh and how.