Hang in There, Friends.

It happened. Yep, really did.

And still today, a week removed from one of the biggest political shocks in modern history, much of the world hasn’t fidgeted even an inch, still staring numbly into a future that looks a damn sight murkier than it had prior to November 8.

Even as the clock approached eight o'clock Pacific Time and the results began trickling in, things didn't feel all that ominous; the math still favored Hillary… and then it didn’t anymore.

One swing state after another—first Florida and North Carolina, then Ohio, Michigan and Pennsylvania—gradually bloomed into tints so red they began glowing orange. It was a flavor of dread I can’t recall tasting before.

As the evening wore on, the boulder that loomed high above us began its slow descent, its shadow darkening our surroundings. Did it drop suddenly, shattering our bodies in one crushing wallop? Of course not. The huge stone pushed patiently and steadily into our chests, ultimately smothering our diaphragms and milking our few last shallow breaths. Stars filled our eyes and engulfed our vision; wouldn’t be long now.

But then, in the most deliciously sadistic of mercies, the giant stone slowly lifted from our bodies, the air rushing to our lungs and our vision returning to focus. Still alive we are, yet reborn into a new world of pain and disbelief.

As I write this, most of us are still scared shitless, so I’m sure you’ve found your own methods for coping with Trump’s ridiculous victory. Maybe you’ve cried or screamed or cried and screamed and thrown a cat or two. Still others may have inquired into residency in another, more tolerant sovereignty with an affable pressed leaf as its national symbol. We’ve all got our coping mechanisms, so do what you have to. Here, however, are some of my personal techniques, should you run out of spray paint and places to decorate with anti-fascist messaging:

Do something that makes you feel good. Whether it’s volunteering, scheduling a mani-pedi or engulfing a complete stranger in a wonderfully startling back hug, take some time for you.
Swear more. Curse, cuss, take the Donald’s name in vain. Profanity (and F-bombs in particular) is such an underutilized venting mechanism, and lately, few things have hit the spot like stepping out onto the front porch, staring at the super moon and shouting, “Donald Trump is the biggest motherf^%ing d&chebag ever conceived by a pair of g%^damn human f&^%ing beings! The only reason his f^%ing red ties are is so long is to hang down over his f&^%ing crotch and cover a g%^damn pair of f^%ing testicles that still haven’t f*^%ing dropped!” Then go back in the house and tell the kids that Daddy is better.
Get back to nature. Do some yard work, go for a nice hike or simply spend a little extra time in the produce section to appreciate the cantaloupe-sized watermelons and watermelon-sized apples. You’ll walk away feeling refreshed and confused.
Don’t read or watch the news and cut back on social media. I know this might sound hypocritical since most of my readership is generated through Facebook and other platforms, but I really did feel better after going dark for a week. Prior to the election I was so out of control with my news and meme consumption that my anxiety was causing a constant weakness in my knees and joints. Even the words, “Trump presidency,” made my bottom Kegel itself into a cramped tennis ball of flesh and veins. Since then, sports and Kardashians are the only two electronic pleasures I’ve allowed back into my life.

It’s going to be a long four years, but I’m going to try with all my being to not let this man’s face or the mugs of his gargoyle sons seep into my daily consciousness.

I hope we all can. God bless America, indeed.