Not That Profound

Social media was aflame this week with sanctimonious posts from both sides of the political spectrum. 

My wife was communicating with angels. 

There is a John Prine song titled “Summer’s End” that I listened to repeatedly this past Labor Day weekend. It’s a beautiful, haunting song, and also depressing as hell. But when I’m looking to wallow in self-pity, depressing songs are my magic elixir. 

Here is a basic truism that I’m guessing anyone who has ever been married to another human being already knows: Marriage is hard. 

We were somewhere in Oklahoma in a cheap motel off I-40 in the middle of nowhere, the type of nowhere place that most people from the East Coast don’t know about unless they’ve been to nowhere. 

In case you missed it, Trey Parker and Matt Stone, the creators of the Comedy Central cartoon television show “South Park,” have opened up with both barrels parodying the Trump Administration and the MAGA movement in the first two episodes of Season 27. 

That’s it. The Blonde Woman left last Friday, and she is never coming back. I’ve been staring out the living room window looking for her as those damn Golden Retrievers walk past my domicile, back and forth and back and forth, with total insouciance—as if my barking doesn’t register any sound with them, as if I don’t even exist. 

I wrote about an accident that I had in February in this column when it happened. In short, I was moving a futon into my basement, skipped a step on the stairs and face-planted, breaking my nose and fracturing my two front teeth. As it turned out, my front teeth needed to be extracted and replaced with dental implants and new crowns.

I have a mental illness. As multiple MAGA supporters have pointed out to me, I suffer from a crippling case of Trump Derangement Syndrome (TDS), and I need help.