I wake, I send light to Aleppo, Standing Rock, every community under attack, every heart I’ve failed or has failed my own. I make a list of which representatives to call about what, and I pray for the Electoral College to step the fuck up and for my higher spirit to guide me to clarity and compassion. Then I tell my permakitten she is beautiful and kind and, in her rapid blinks, feel her telling me the same. I make a second list–which onerous personal tasks I must complete; what buttons must be sewn, what bills must be paid–and scan headlines with baited breath. Then, only then, do I make my coffee. This is the world narrowed through my door since November 9.