The neighborhood erupted at about 11:30 this morning, shouting and singing and
pot-banging, and for a second I couldn't imagine what was happening, even
though I had the radio on and the network had broken into "Wait Wait Don't
Tell Me" with the news.
I think I'm really starting to accept that it's time to be happy about this,
just for its own sake, as Jordan started saying, because it feels like a
liberation and a lightening, like a rock rolled off our collective chests, a
Happy Day. Regardless of the pain and embarrassment we will continue to feel
and the way things won't get altogether better, regardless of what President
Biden will or won't be able to do (or even want to do, as some of the young
folk wish to remind us), regardless of whether the criminals are brought to
justice, regardless what goes down from here on in, it's just a good feeling.
We will get over Trump, we will be done with this particular anomaly. We're
already over him! Poof! He's deflated, whizzing around the room for an instant
and dropping to the floor!
One of the things that's been distressing me since Tuesday is the sense that that isn't happening, the thing I'd been really looking forward to, the moment when his followers would suddenly come to realize that he's nobody, a loser, an ill-stuffed shirt, the moment when they lose their faith in him.