The scary thing about Sarah -- gosh, I don't think she'd mind if I call her that -- is that she actually says stuff. Lots of stuff. Usually, when you think about seeing the writing on the wall, it's because of stuff that isn't said; it's that "eureka" feeling you get even though nobody's actually spoken the words or written them down for you. Like "aha, I'm nowhere near the center of his universe" (can't help it; at fifty-one, I still entertain the fantasy) or "aha, I had better get my act together because I'm about to get screwed." Just random examples.
But Sarah's not subtle. There's a whole country full of people out there who see and hear what she has been saying, and I don't know about the rest of the folks out there, but I see some pretty clear (albeit inarticulate) writing on the wall, and it tells me that this self-aggrandizing crackpot whose only foreign policy achievement was keeping an eye on Putin from her perch in Juneau (gives new meaning to the concept of superpower) has a pretty good chance of making it to the Oval Office. I sure hope mama grizzlies don't shed.
Unfortunately, I can't do anything about the rise of Sarah, since most of the people with whom I come into contact are relatively intelligent and would never vote for someone like her anyway. But I do know people who intend to watch her reality show just for kicks; I tremble to think about the other viewers out there, the starstruck morons who will have no trouble casting a vote for a larger than life buffoon who has actually invited them into her living room, just down the road apiece from Russia, for a hot chocolate. Again, I can't help that; it's not my problem.
So I'm going back to focusing on myself. I suppose Sarah and I are more similar than I'd like to admit. Just as she was so focused on her homefront she hadn't been able to focus on the war in Iraq (or Iran, or Ireland, or wherever she thought the "Department of Law" folks in the White House were sending troops), I'm kind of too focused on myself to worry about an idiot becoming president. It's not like we haven't lived to tell that tale before.
I'm focusing on that writing on my wall, that no man in my life has ever made me the center of his universe, and that if I don't take care of myself, I'm about to get screwed. Big time. My newly polished talons had better stop grabbing on to false hope and start dropping all the big dead fish that are weighing me down. I've got better things to carry with me on my journey. Maybe I'll fly to Alaska once things thaw out a bit, get some tips from Sarah on how to believe so wholeheartedly in my own superiority that nothing anybody else says matters. Mama Grizzly, meet Baby Eagle.
If she can spin her illiteracy into literary genius, likening herself to Shakespeare for her uncanny ability to create new words, I can certainly convince myself that I am worth far more than some people would let me believe. I can read the writing on the wall, and, with Sarah's help, I just might be able to "refudiate" it.
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