It seems as if I wake up almost every night, and there is some vision of Donald Trump inside my head as I slowly struggle to decide whether to go to the bathroom or not. And in the process of waking up, I look at my mental image of this toad residing in the Oval Office, I find myself being more than slightly disgusted. How could I have the POTUS perpetually taking up part of my mind like this? What kind of disgusting animal is he? And does this mean that I am a disgusting animal for having him as a permanent resident in my mental interior? What kind of sick fuck is Donald Trump, and what kind of sick fuck am I for having this occupy part of my mind?
I went back to sleep again, sleeping the way an old man does, and I had quite an elaborate dream about our collective current situation.
I awake with a start. I am standing in my bathrobe a few feet from a small stream. I don't know how I got there, or why I woke up. But it must be related to the object that is sticking out of the ground beside me. And there is fear and dread in what I see.
There is a shiny white cylindrical object about 4" in diameter, jutting out three or four feet, but it's broken. There is a narrow slit of a crack running alongside the cylinder, and inside it appears to be filled with a radioactive olive drab goo the consistency of hard opaque jello.
The next scene shows me on a residential street in a neighboring town about five miles away from home. In the middle of the street is a larger cylinder, and there is a considerable amount of goo that's been spilled onto the street. There's no one around, but someone has obviously been here to inspect the site because there's a large red sign with white lettering on it. And it says "BATCH 34."
Now I'm at home, sitting at my desk. I'm trying to figure out what to do. And I figure that the best thing to do is to call the appropriate federal agency in charge of disposing of toxic biohazrds. I begin leafing through my phone book.
The last scene in my nightmare is that I am sitting in a small room all by myself. It's not a prison, but it certainly is behind several layers of high security in some total institution -- not a prison but some kind of highly restricted medical facility. I'm in a comfortable isolation unit in a small room with a steel door and no windows. There is a sink and toilet. There is a chair and writing table, and there is a small hard bed that I am sitting on. On the other side of the room is a TV screen embedded in the wall with a frozen image. It has a red background with white letters, and the image says, BATCH 38."
What kind of country is it that allows a beast like this to become its leader? What does it say about ourselves as a people? How am I responsible for helping to make this situation happen? What are we going to do about it?
These are my waking thoughts this morning.