I will be leaving America in exactly 137 days.
Though the reality of it has not quite sunk in yet, there are numerous little signs that half of me is already not here.
The notices that come from the county of proposed tax increases that slide off my consciousness like a summer shower swirling down a drain pipe. The plans by the association that I live in to improve this or that or the other thing . I shall not be around to witness any of this and therefore they have already become part of some abstract, future disconnect reality.
Or take the slow fade out of the chattering classes, with their mono obssesion with their orange bête, as evidenced by my overnight disinterest in MSNBC’s lineup of talking heads, after years of being glued to cable TV and impotently cursing America’s fondness for endless wars or, say, its twisted idea of personal health insurance legislation. The yawn when I heard about O’Reilly. Little of it means anything to me anymore.
It was quite remarkable, really, especially in its suddenness. I am not sure when I detached.
One minute I was just another angry Floridian driving around with clenched teeth, in a sort vitriolic Ilie Nastase geezer parody — lamenting the days when I was able to get by on my handsome looks and knack for hustling new technology to brain dead pencil pushers — the next my blood pressure drops 30 points and I’m radiating serenity moonbeams.
I really do have to thank The Donald for helping me jump the shark.
Without him, I might not have decided to abandon the country I have lived in for disquieting eons.
Initially, I thought I would move to Nice.
Who doesn’t love Nice?
Where the only crudités I would encounter would be on a vegetable platter.
I even copped a fancy Nissa La Bella URL.
You see, I naively thought that I’d ride out The Donald’s first term, at least until the inevitable impeachment hammer came down.
But then I remembered my trip to Paris last summer.
How astonished I was at the sight of France drifting to Sig Heil land.
The grumbling of the young waiters who were university graduates cleaning tables and not getting enough hours to make ends meet at that.
But I said, no, it would not also happen there.
And then, as The Donald’s first 100 days unfolded, impeachment no longer seemed so inevitable.
Normalization, or, rather, deculturalization, was in full swing, as Hard Science took a back seat to rubbish science.
America had suddenly turned into a fulltime open air circus, with a scowling clown leading all the jolly pranksters to the trapeze with no net below to cushion the fall of the millions who will soon no longer have health insurance.