I couldn't sleep last night. I was so exercised over the news about the election that I simply could not reach a state of tiredness, and the more agitated I got the more my bedbug bites itched and then the more I scratched them the more they itched. In the meantime I decided to throw away most things I took with me on my retreat because I will do everything in my power to prevent this from happening in our home. That included three things that would have given me comfort last night: my pillow, my sleep mask and my "plane pills" I take on flights for anxiety. Those were all gone and all I had left were my bites and a growing tolerance to Benedryl.
My country feels like my skin right now. Agitated, angry. I wonder when and if things will feel better and if I should start panicking or just be patient or what.
I realize how freaking facile this comparison is. I am a white college educated woman in a liberal bubble in America and I'm bitching because I went on vacation and got bitten by some bugs. Big deal, poor me. When the shit hits the fan it probably won't spray on me. But guess what--I'm still going to be living in a shit-splattered room and it's going to hit somebody and it might be the person standing next to me and that is not acceptable.
I'm mixing my (bad) metaphors and failing at what I pledged I wouldn't do today--try to make sense of things with words, using the Internet, which I can't help but feel has betrayed me somehow over the last several months. I want to be soothed. I want relief. But I guess I learned a damn lesson. Don't sleep in a bed without looking at it. And don't assume you know anything about anything.