As the Trump administration prepares to take office, my insomnia has been getting a whole lot worse. And I’m not talking about the Orange One’s Late Night Tweets keeping me up. I’m talking about them possibly annihilating us.
I’ve been waking up at my usual 4:30am wondering if our president-elect was waking up, too, maybe mindlessly reaching for his phone to Tweet out his disdain for how the Nazi’s were unfairly portrayed in “The Sound of Music” revival, then accidentally hitting the “Nuke China” button instead. Yeah, I know it doesn’t work that way, but the 4:30am brain is a weird thing.
So, if it’s early morning and you’re here at Nightmath.com, maybe you can’t sleep for some personal reason (college admissions letters, anyone?) or maybe the President-Elect has you a teensy bit worried about things like, oh say, his desecrating of the Constitution and you losing all of your rights as an American citizen.
Well, here’s what I say to that: Donald can try and steal my country, but he’s not getting my sleep.
So, what can an insomniac do, as she tosses about, wondering how hard it could possibly be to move anywhere else in world? And the short answer is, not right now because there’s work to do here. I have to do something. You have to do something. We all have to do something—pronto—or rather, bystro, which is the Russian word for fast, and since the President of Russia helped put Trump in office, maybe it’s time to learn the language.
But first I have other things to do. At night, my job is to sleep. In daylight hours, I will continue to call and email my senators, and sign those MoveOn.org petitions which my friend Lisa says is like agreeing to an epidural when you’re already in the transition phase of giving birth. Ha! Yes, Lisa. But for me those petitions are a psychic scream for freedom, more like Jojo in “Horton Hears a Who” leading the Whovilles in the cry of Yopp! and hoping enough voices will make a big enough clatter to save the speck. Because right now I just want to save this speck of a planet from Destruction by Donald. (Wouldn’t that be a great name for an orange-tinted cologne that smells like Big Oil and bullshit). So here I go: Yopp!
Join me anyone? Yopp! Yopp! It worked for the Whos.
Let’s Yopp ’til the Orange One drops.
Look here to see how yopping actually worked in South Korea.
YOPP YOPP YOPP YOPP YOPP!