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The Wheels On The Bus Go Round And Round

And sometimes they fall off completely.

I dream about cars a lot. Sooner or later, every car I’ve ever owned pops up in one. I remember one time I was driving my old red Eclipse—skimming like a hovercraft into a sunrise above the treetops of an immense forest.

The very first car I ever bought new, a white ’84 Corolla SR5 still makes an appearance now and then, having never sold it and miraculously having been in storage all these years yet still running perfectly.

This morning I woke from a dream where I’d been tooling around (in the rain, no less) in a white Mazda Miata. I’ve never owned a Mazda Miata of any color, but it had been on my “most wanted” list for many years. I don’t remember many details except that I was on the freeway and then pulling into the parking lot at work. I was surprised to see a coveted parking spot right by the main entrance (closer than even the handicapped spots) was empty.

I had some trouble turning into it, feeling like I was either too close to the curb on the driver’s side or the stripe on the passenger side, but got out and saw that I was perfectly centered. (Notice my choice of words there.)

And then I saw that the rear passenger wheel was missing. Yep. Gone. Vanished. Fell off somewhere and I never ever realized it until I saw it and how it explained my difficulty turning into the parking spot.

“Damn, that’s going to cost a lot to replace,” was my only thought upon seeing it as I walked away, but realized I didn’t really need to worry about it because I knew I had enough credit available to cover whatever it was going to cost. Everything would all work out in the end. And at that moment I woke up.

The car-as-body/life metaphor all but slapped me in the face and surprisingly, I came away from it all with a very positive vibe. The missing wheel was a—pardon the pun—just a bump in the road, not an end to the journey.

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I Hate Donald Trump

From Palmer Report:

As I was watching Donald Trump the other day, it occurred to me that I hate him. Not like I “hate” my favorite sports team’s rival, or even how I might “hate” a musician who is popular but terrible. In one case it’s faux hatred for fun, and in the other case, it’s mere annoyance. No one involved in any of these scenarios is actually harming anyone. But when it comes to Trump, I truly hate him.

This is an obvious and self-explanatory statement. Every one of you here understands why I hate Donald Trump, without me having to explain it. Every one of you reading this no doubt feels the same way about him. But it just seems so odd that after I spent my precious time listening to this man I hate, I’m turning around and writing about this man I hate. None of this would be healthy or wise or even make any sense, if not for the fact that the man I hate in question happens to be the sitting President of the United States. In fact, I hate having to write that he is the sitting President of the United States.

But I think this hatred is necessary. In the decade that I have been writing about this bastard, he’s gotten worse and worse, and the damage he’s done has gotten worse and worse. He’s not merely some incompetent buffoon or some out of touch elitist who can’t do the job well. He is, objectively speaking, pure evil. Completely senile, seemingly dying, yet pure evil nonetheless.

The only saving grace in having to hate watch this man is in getting to see all the ways that he’s failing. He’s historically unpopular. His agenda is falling apart. He’s under the kind of cognitive stress that has him speaking largely in gibberish. He’s humiliating himself, without realizing it, every time he appears in public. And did I mention that he looks like he’s going to die soon?

Again, none of this focus on someone we hate this much would serve any purpose or be healthy in any way, if not for the fact that this man is a clear and present danger to all of us – and our open hatred for him may finally be opening some eyes after all these years. Many of the unwell cult members who fell for this monster are starting to turn against him.

. . . 

So yeah, I’m going to keep on hating Donald Trump. I’m going to continue listening to his words. And I’m going to continue to write about how much I hate him. Why? Because I can. Because it irks him. Because it helps keep us focused on the end goal, which is to keep our democracy and our humanity intact until this dying monster finally croaks from his mounting health problems. We only hate Trump because we love our country, we love our fellow Americans, and we love our fellow human beings.

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