Met a woman this morning--distraught. She wasn't having an abortion. Her daughter was. She was in a fit because of the protesters, the past and her now. She was wet-faced, having trouble breathing, sleepless, possibly drugged. Bi-polar. It was early. She worked nights.
The anti-abortion protesters come every Saturday with their dead-baby signs and pray (prey) like they're closer to god. It's shitty. They were around when she had her abortion. She was distraught because they were still there for her daughter's abortion and it's still not easy. Sometimes worse...He left her. Her teenage daughter is pregnant. She's still sad and thinks of a baby. Feels stressed and lonely. Is alone. Tearful woman.
I agree almost whole-heartedly with my father: wish a president would move in quietly and ask for a good-night's sleep because there is a lot to do. No parties, please. Put your moula away. Better yet: share!
That being said and come what may, bad neighbors are about to move away. Putrid. Nasty. Bush's. Cheney's. Goodbye. How you've turned my stomach with your sirens and guns.
This morning, the woman found this, after all that, to smile for, for moving on: Barack Obama will be president. His face is on my metro ticket. The White House is under transition for a new tenant. This year will be honest. Things may not fall apart after all. Welcome, Obama's. Let the welcoming begin...
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