Today dad woke up and immediately turned on the TV. He didn’t want to miss a moment of the insanity (his interest is fascination, not support). I couldn’t handle the pageantry, it’s exclusivity so heavy with implications.

I tried to stay out of the apartment, but rainfall ruined outdoor errands. With cable news blaring through the apartment, I retreated to my room, closed the door, and clicked on Pandora prompting a flashback to the 1980’s when I spent so much of my young life in my room to listening to music.

Life in an alcoholic household meant a lot of concessions. And being one of four children meant a lot of sharing. Compromise grew into a form of PTSD for me (which has possibly contributed to multiple failed relationships over 40 years), but around age eight, my brother was moved to another room and I finally had a sanctuary. My bedroom was the smallest in the house and located directly over the back door and the kitchen allowing me to be aware of everyone coming and going without having to engage directly.

Back then, I did homework laying stretched across my rose print comforter with Madonna blaring rather than pushed up to the desk in a wooden chair as my father instructed.

Now, I’m looking at an empty (plastic) desk chair as I lean against multiple fluffy pillows (in childhood, I only had one) with the dog snoring next to me drowning the voice of pundits with Taylor Swift lyrics.

Back then, politics was boring adult stuff. Now, I am the boring adult, but with the swearing in of Donald Trump, I crave a teen mindset- one that barely extends past the walls of my room. Wouldn’t it be nice if the issues affecting my life could be assuaged simply by wearing the right outfit?

Obliterating problems I cannot face with copious amounts of alcohol is popular among adults, and obviously, I’m not going that route, but what is the healthy version of inhaling a pint of ice cream? Google suggests meditation, exercise, and journaling.

I’m two for three so far today and I can tell you, it’s not enough this time.