Since I wrote my first entry back in November 2024, differing feelings have sprouted from the soil of my general disillusionment with the United States. The elections and the Super Bowl are one and the same to me in that they are ritualized events encapsulated in the putrid texture of red, white, and blue. Simply put, I do not have a taste for the bread being served at the circus. As with all American elections, there were winners and losers. However, the winner in this most recent ring-around-the-flagpole is dangerous, hateful, and every “-ist” in the book. He’s also boring, unremarkable, and intellectually inferior to most individuals.

Dualities exist for a reason. Dysfunction exists for a reason. I am in no way advocating for turning a blind eye to our simpleton leader of the “free” world, but rather cautioning against allowing him or his administration to plunge you deeper into fear. Are we living in unprecedented and increasingly scary times? Absolutely. Can you, as an individual, do anything to diminish that truth? The most logical and reasonable course of action is to protect yourself, your community, and your family—and that starts with responsible media consumption. Doomscrolling for hours on end, to the point of exhaustion and chest pain from the onslaught of bleak domestic happenings, is poisonous. Being informed and being obsessed are two separate camps. Unfortunately, the little internet boxes we carry with us religiously make it difficult to distinguish between the two modes. You don’t magically earn extra “good person” points for poisoning your brain.

There has never been a time in human history when information was this readily available and accessible. This is beneficial for knowing the truth about the multiple genocides being committed globally and for learning effective modes of resistance and revolt from oppressed peoples around the world. I would never feel comfortable casting an absolute judgment on the internet as all good or all bad, but I do feel that discipline is needed now more than ever. Pick up a new hobby, organize weekly dinner nights, see a movie solo, take the Amtrak to a neighboring state—quite literally anything but allow the politics of exhaustion to lull you into a depressive, apathetic state.

You, too, should refuse to panic.

This is the first election I have not voted in—an election, that is, in which I am legally eligible to vote. Aside from the hassle of mailing my ballot, due to the ongoing issues with USPS in my Brooklyn neighborhood, I chose not to vote this time for a host of reasons. I thought it would feel different, even shameful, not to vote. But instead, I now realize that the real shame would have been in voting at all. How could I? How could I compromise my morals to vote for either Donald Trump or Kamala Harris when neither opposes Israel’s genocide? Not only are they not opposed; they are supportive and complicit. More than 340 million people live in this empire, 231 million of whom are eligible voters, yet we have only two people to choose from for the “highest office in the land.” It’s maddening to think about, really. Downright irrational. And yet, it is by design—a horrible, flawed, ugly, racist, exploitative design.

As I sit watching the election coverage on NBC, I am filled with rage. All these paid pundits, dressed in their funeral finest, speaking with authority and confidence. But at the end of the day—and, as I write this, the day will soon end—I will still be the person I am, and Palestinians will continue to be murdered as far as our screens can see.

Come tomorrow, regardless of the results of what is being hailed as “the election of our lifetime” for yet another lifetime, I will still be living far below the poverty line. When I wake up and turn my face to unlock my banking app, there will still be $1.99 in my checking account (the only account I have and the only place I have funds other than the gifted $50 Visa gift card sitting on my office desk). I will still be a disabled, queer, Black woman living in a fat body. The convergence of all these things that remain constant about my personhood culminates in a reality that will persist—regardless of who holds the title of President of the United States.

America is a fascist oligarchy parading in democracy’s clothing, adorned with the blood-soaked jewels of capitalism. And I am fed up with never having enough to eat or enough to spend, too much to do and nowhere near enough time. I have one too many specialized sociology degrees and zero job prospects.

As I sit here watching Civil War for the first time, having lost interest in the election coverage long ago (if 42 minutes even counts), I now dread tomorrow—not because of the impending election results or the onslaught of media noise that will follow, but because it’s another Wednesday where my needs won’t be met.

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