Turns out living through history is exhausting

Hi.

What day is this? Where are we? Who are you people?

I only ask because I’ve mentally and physically aged 241 years. In the last week.

Is anyone else just, you know, completely over this whole “watching history in the making” thing?

I feel like I could be partly to blame here because growing up, I wanted to know what it was like to live through WWII or the civil rights movement or the first season of Dallas. And now, in some horrible ironic monkey paw-esque scenario, my wish has been granted, but it bears no resemblance to the simplistic, naive desire that led me to this place.

The upside of living through so many unprecedented times that they’re now feeling pretty damn precedented, is that I’ve been introduced to a new little hobby I lovingly refer to as rage baking. My Irish-German DNA kicks into overdrive every time an angry mob of white men storms a government building, (which basically happens every other day now, let’s be honest), and I am told in no uncertain terms that carbs will lead us out of this chaos. Look, I don’t argue with my ancestry- not over this type of thing anyway- I just nod and head to the pantry.

Seditious mob overtaking the Capitol? This calls for cinnamon rolls. Gaslighting politicians? Time for some snickerdoodles. Murder hornets return, carrying little vials of coronavirus to inject into their victims? Slather some cookie dough on that ish.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not just eating my way through the death throes of our democracy. The sugar just replaces the rest I’d otherwise be getting, thus fueling me for more calls to my elected officials. Sure, some of them may have been partly responsible for this whole debacle, but I’m sure they’ll grow a heart any day now. Until then, it’s back to CostCo for another 50 lb. bag of flour.

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