At Least I Can Go Home Again, Sort Of

My small hopes for happy election results were in vain, but at least I can go home again. This morning I feared that my still beloved home state in the much maligned middle America would go red. If it went red, where could my heart rest then? I timidly checked the NYT website to see if I could go home again and found some small solace. It was blue. Perhaps it wasn't as blue as it was when Reagan failed to take it, but it was blue.

My thin tolerance for certain boneheaded beliefs is at an all time low. How will the changes that our right wing leaders continue to palm off on us affect my life? One very important yet invisible effect on me is growing alienation. I still want to believe that I should feel at home in my own country. But who are these people? Who are my neighbors outside of my university district? Who were the neighbors I grew up with in my midwestern suburb? I do not trust these people.

About 10 years ago, I joked that I didn't want to live in a "spelt bread enclave." Now I guess I'll have to set up permanent residence at the corner of Spelt and Soy, and only venture out of the reservation for the occasional cheeseburger.