I woke with a voice screaming in my ear and this is what it said:
Oy, oy, oy! Stop treating the RNC convention–the Trump candidacy in general–like it’s a reality show you can rubberneck with no consequences. This is real, and Trump has progressed this far because we’ve treated him like a never-gonna-happen joke rather than the 21st-century Hitler he truly is. He is a danger, he feeds on our smugness, and he tromps over our nitpicking while we pat ourselves on the back. We need to steamroll this malignant narcissist, not make adorable GIFs at his expense.
The voice is right, even if it did remind me of one of the dead ancestors in Fiddler on the Roof. Rather than poison ourselves with this convention–for it will reveal nothing and taint all of our blood (everyone I’ve spoken with had Trumpmares last night, for example)–we should practice radical self-care to prepare for what’s bound to be an Octavia Butler-level fight. Tonight is a full moon, which is the best time of the month for shedding. So go outside instead. Release this toxicity to the heavens in the hugest of howls. We all need to be were-activists now.