The Hair and the Fury

Tonight, my hair hurts. Dish has thick hair so growth causes pain. It's nice to have this problem, right Bruce Willis and Donald Trump? In addition to icing my head, I'm watching tennis and creeping ever so slightly over to the Dem convention. Truth: I'm one of those angry female Hillary supporters. Because I'm never passionate about politics, my rage doesn't feel baseless. I wanted this woman who'd been beaten around by everyone (She asked for it, right?) to be on top. For all the times when I was ignored in college Latin over boys, endless directives by all-knowing paternal XYs and didn't feel confident enough to say "shut up," the shoddy treatment by crude oil traders when I was a secretary, touchy-grabs in the office, a vicious mugging by men whose fate and mine were decided by men, the expectation that I would fall in line and breed and marry--as sexist as it is, I wanted Hillary in the most powerful office. Poor me, right? It's tough being human, having people focus on your clothes, your cheating husband, your privilege, your skills of manipulation. It's tough being anything these days.

I came of age during anti-female backlash fresh from the 70s so having a strong visible enduring female role model other than my mother is special. My excitement for this election is gone but I can't wait to see what Hillary will say tonight. I am trying to like Obama but my dinner keeps rising at the thought of voting for him. I'm sure he's a good man. I feel sympathy for Michelle because now that Hillary is out, interesting media has circulated around her failings. Despite my hesitancy, I'll do the right thing--more likely, the left--though I'll have an empty stomach when I pull the lever.

Sorry for the rant but there's nothing on TV tonight and I have no desire to watch Deja Vu, the one with Denzel and not Stephen Dillane (which is corny but kinda fab). And my hair hurts.