Is It Over Yet?

I’ve been working on my book — or at least trying to — so I’m behind on this blog. Again.

At my new small-town polling place.

Not that very much has happened. The guy who works as a cashier at my local PriceChopper is still scanning groceries while wearing a scuba mask. The only physical contact I get with any regularity are the dogs being walked past my front porch, who I practically pounce on while their owners slowly back away. And at an outdoor event recently, I discovered a caterpillar in my lap, who then became my pet for the afternoon. His name was Brad.

And Biden, I think, won the election?

After months of bonkers Trump rallies, late-night talk-show monologues (watched over morning coffee); the death of Queen RGB; two minutes of a fly on Pence’s head; a week-long visit from my mom (despite my fears that she’d get COVID on the plane); an explosion of fall colors, which are now mostly crumbled on the ground; and almost four inches’ regrowth of my natural hair color, we’re almost there.

Although if Steve Kornacki got any more granular with the electoral count, I swear my head would’ve exploded.

If you’ve been to this space before, you know I’m not the kind of blogger who’s like, “This morning I made an avocado-quinoa smoothie and rearranged my closet alphabetically by color!” But I’ve missed a few opportunities to talk about things — besides that I’m now more of a Kimmel fan, because I’m jealous of Colbert’s wife, and I want her to go away. Just being honest.

For example, I could’ve written a post for Columbus Day / Indigenous Peoples Day, because I’m reading (well, listening to) Washington Irving’s Knickerbocker’s History of New York, and Irving does this brilliant parody on the early Dutch settlers’ defense of their massacre of the New World natives. Who knew 1809 humor was so edgy? But the day came and went.

The plastic bag ban in New York State came and went and came back (once they figured out canvas totes didn’t kill people). And there were so many environmental rollbacks in the last four years that I lost track. Partly because when you live alone during a global pandemic, just feeding yourself takes half the day. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. Shopping for the food, preparing the food, cooking the food, eating the food, cleaning up after the food. It’s exhausting.

Sometime between these two dates was a wee window for plastic bags. When we thought we had to quarantine our groceries.

It was also hard to avoid being distracted by the madman in the White House. So about all I’ve been getting to in a given week has been the New York Times morning email, the book research and writing, those damn food-related activities, a little yoga or maybe a hike, obsessive Twitter checks, the occasional shower, and lulling myself to sleep with Netflix and wine.

I’m hoping my nervous system has an opportunity to calm down on January 20th.

Of course, no matter who finally gets officially called as the next American president, we’ll still be dealing with U.S. senators who don’t believe in climate change, and a Supreme Court that’s waahaaay more conservative (and Catholic) than the general population. And now I know why I’ve never written a book (for grownups) before — it’s HARD. Also, I’m still trying to decorate my new place on a Goodwill budget . . . and Pinterest is like my version of a giant pot brownie.

All this is why, in addition to my neophytic environmental coverage, I’m going to try and post page counts for my book here and on my social medias — so I can be accountable to someone. (You.) Cheerleading, encouragement, nagging — it’s all welcome.

And by the way, when I say “page count,” I might mean “word count” — it’s not as glamorous, but more realistic.

Right now I’ve got about 16,700 words. That’s . . . 55 pages! Ish. Subscribe below to this blog to join the party, and follow me at the socials down at the bottom of the screen.

One last thing: I wrote one of my very first posts on this site the day after Hillary Clinton lost the Presidential election. I’m hereby recommitting the pledge I made that day.

Goodnight,
Deb

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