What do we do now?
Fucked if I know.
The only thing I know is I said fuck more times in the last 24 hours than I did in the the last two years combined.
That is because we are, you know, fucked, and not in a good way.
I don't know what to do now. I had so much faith in the collective good sense of America, that I had not prepared myself at all for this eventuality. Today, I left work at midday because it took more than I had in me to focus on anything, so I just gave up and came home to wallow properly in my private misery.
Then later in the day, Dave, Allison, and Malik came to my rescue by dragging me out to our usual Wednesday night Shalimar meal, where I ate about a cow and a half. It didn't help much still. Nor did it help that all my friends were just as shocked and miserable as I was. We continued to drown our sorrow in food later at Citizen Cake with a yummy trio of tart, Granada, Full Moon, and Pear and Cardamom. All tasty, all sweet, but they did nothing to erase the bitterness in my heart.
Have I said we are all fucked?
So what do we do now?
Well, fucked if I know. Salon did offer some advice however.