Humor has always been my method of dealing with fear and trauma. Having grown up in an abusive household and dealing with terror almost daily, I’m pretty damn adept at diffusing tense or heavy situations with a bit of dry snark. My default reaction to anything stressful is to keep a level head and make people laugh. When people are angry, I react with diplomacy and kindness. The more they yell, the more bubblegum sweet I get, refusing to give in and offer the cowering “okay, yes, anything you say” reaction they’re looking for.
This morning, not so much. After being up half the night fuming over the presidential debate during which 45 not only refused to denounce white supremacy, but told a known hate group to “stand by” and “deal with the left,” I came into work loaded for bear. I was livid and tired and already fed up with racists arguing online over the weekend about swastikas. Angry, exhausted, and worried about the commentary from the Trumpers at work, I was ready to snap and turn around and go home. And I almost did.Continue reading “Living the Dream One Nightmare at a Time”