Cliff Notes for a Cliffhanger

The air feels charged tonight—like the restless hum before a thunderstorm, heavy and unspoken. It presses against my skin, not violent but insistent, demanding acknowledgment. Everything feels on the edge of something—change, collapse, renewal. Or maybe all three at once. It’s a strange feeling, being so small in a world that seems to teeter on its axis.

I’ve been watching the news, trying to piece together the state of things. The government teeters on the brink of another shutdown, while leaders argue over who’s to blame for a growing mountain of crises: multiple climate disasters, a spiraling national debt, and a healthcare system that feels more fragile by the day. The world watches us, not with the awe I once believed they held, but with something more like pity—or maybe quiet derision. Are we still the beacon we claim to be, or have we become the cautionary tale?

The news of who has been chosen as our next leader has left me reeling. Disbelief hangs heavy, not just in my mind but in the conversations I hear from friends and strangers alike. How could someone like this—someone who has no respect for our constitution, a 34-count convicted felon, a rapist, a malignant narcissist, a grifter, a wanna-be dictator—be handed the keys to our everything? A man whose track record is littered with bankruptcies, dubious business deals, and a history of prioritizing personal gain over public good. He seems more interested in building his brand than the country. It’s hard to imagine a person so preoccupied with their own self-image leading us into anything but chaos.

It’s not just our internal chaos that worries me. Our treatment of other nations has reached new levels of embarrassment. In recent days, the president-elect has floated the idea of Canada becoming the 51st state, as though they would willingly trade their sovereignty for our dysfunction. He’s repeatedly referred to their prime minister as “Governor Trudeau,” reducing an esteemed leader to the role of a state official. I imagine Canadians rolling their eyes, wondering how we’ve fallen so far.

And then there’s Greenland. A few years ago, the idea of buying Greenland was floated as if its citizens, proud and independent under Denmark’s umbrella, were merely bargaining chips. Now, the president-elect has revived the idea, doubling down on the absurdity and leaving our allies baffled. It’s the same arrogance that leads to comments like suggesting Panama “give back” the canal or that the Gulf of Mexico should be renamed “The Gulf of America.” These statements aren’t just ignorant; they’re deeply insulting to nations that have long been our partners, nations that value their independence as fiercely as we claim to value ours.

Across the globe, the laughter at our expense grows louder. Allies question our stability, our reliability.

At home, the cracks in our foundation grow wider. Gun violence is now so routine that its absence feels stranger than its presence. Another mass shooting made headlines today—just a few states away. And still, nothing changes. I wonder what other countries think when they see our headlines. Do they shake their heads in disbelief at our tolerance for tragedy? Do they shrug, having grown used to the madness we’ve come to accept? Maybe they just grab the popcorn.

Next week looms large—what will we lose next? The storm feels closer now, the wind already pulling at the edges of what we’ve built. I can’t shake the sense that we’ve handed the reins to someone who may steer us directly off a cliff.

I want to believe in resilience. I want to believe we can still make a turn for the better. But tonight, I feel the weight of doubt. What if this is how it all unravels?

Friday is looming

Woke up this morning with that same heavy feeling that’s been hanging around since the election. It’s like the air is thicker, harder to breathe, as if the weight of everything happening in the world is pressing down all at once. Friday is looming over us now—the day that might mark the last chance for any legal actions if credible election interference has been found. I don’t know whether to hope or to brace for impact.

I keep flipping back to how crushed I felt on election night. It wasn’t just sadness; it was like someone had yanked the floor out from under me and stepped on my neck. Now, every headline feels like a countdown. I know better than to hope too much, but I can’t help it—it flickers there, even if only for a moment. Hope that someone in the shrinking plank of the current administration will stand up and boldly say, “This isn’t right.” That all of this unraveling, this chaos, can be stopped before it dismantles everything so many of us have fought for, dreamed of, and depended upon.

I think about what “we the people” means, and I can’t help but feel disillusioned. It feels like those words, so full of promise, are being chipped away—bit by bit—until they’re barely a whisper. It’s terrifying to think about what could happen if our social systems are gutted. It’s not just politics; it’s survival for so many. For my sister and for mom. The government who is supposed to protect us is being "tried on" by those who seem to be focused on retribution, greed and on protecting their power.

This week, I’ve been trying to distract myself with little things—reading old diary entries, directing AI to draw Christmas cards, even doom-scrolling just for the irony of it. But the truth is, I’m scared. Scared for what the next four years might hold. Scared for people like me, for the communities that are already so vulnerable. And underneath all that fear, there’s anger—at the “orange man” and his kind, at the ones who enable him, at their joy in cruelty.

But still, there’s that little flicker of hope. Maybe it’s naïve, but maybe Friday--December 20th--could bring something—some truth, some justice, some glimmer of a chance to stop this runaway train before it’s too late. If nothing else, it reminds me that I still care, that I still believe in the promise of our nation's collective dream.

We’ll see. Maybe nothing will happen, The world turns a cold shoulder my way.

Shadows at the Crossroads: A Glimpse Into Recent Events

It feels, these days, like we’re living in a story—a narrative as thrilling as it is unsettling. The United States has once again become the stage for a high-stakes drama, with the world tuning in, eager to see how the plot unravels. As I write this, the air seems charged with tension, a feeling that history itself is holding its breath.

America: A Theatre of Transformation—and Erosion?

The streets have become a mirror of the nation's soul. Protests rise like ancient forces, cries of hope and fury reverberating against a backdrop of shifting sands. Voting rights are under siege. The words "Constitutional crisis" slip more easily into conversations than they did a few years ago, a chilling reminder of how thin the line between democracy and something darker can become.

Technology accelerates this sense of unease. The rise of artificial intelligence offers glimpses of dazzling potential—but also a creeping fear of control slipping away. It's not just the machines that pose a threat; it's the systems we create to wield them. The boundaries of privacy, free expression, and even thought itself feel fragile under the weight of algorithms engineered to predict—and manipulate—our every move.

And then there’s the Supreme Court, a body once seen as an anchor of stability, now leaning heavily to one side. Recent rulings have sparked debates over freedoms many believed were untouchable, leaving citizens questioning how much longer those freedoms will endure. Beneath the debates over individual cases lies a larger fear: that the Constitution itself is slowly being reinterpreted into something unrecognizable.

Beyond America: Echoes of Uncertainty

Beyond the borders, the globe feels just as unstable. In Ukraine, the war grinds on, a grotesque dance that reshapes alliances and redraws battle lines. In China, the government tightens its grip, showcasing a model of power that many worry could inspire imitation elsewhere. And the climate, once a whisper of concern, now roars like a hurricane, eroding the very ground beneath our feet—both literally and metaphorically.

But perhaps the most chilling echoes come from democracies around the world, where freedoms erode under the guise of "protection." Journalists are silenced, opposition voices stifled, and laws reshaped to favor those in power. These aren’t just distant headlines; they are warnings. Warnings that the fabric of rights, once torn, is nearly impossible to repair.

A Haunting Reflection 

It’s as if we’ve conjured something immense and alive, something that screams with the sound of history, progress, and fear. It is waiting for someone to breathe life into it again or to see it fade forever behind the heavy doors of memory.

And beneath the fear lies a question that cuts deeper than most are willing to admit: Are we going to FAFO?

Hope? Yes, perhaps. But hope only matters if it’s paired with action. Now, perhaps more than ever, we are fighting not just for what we have, but for what we refuse to lose.

Waking Dreams

The nights aren't for rest. I settle in watching independant news. I do this to be informed of the coming dread. I do this for the company of others who can see it coming. This dread begs to be shared. It is the slow-mo car wreck that is difficult to look away from. Half the country is gaslit in their rose-colored glasses. I worry. I can see the monsters that lurk in the shadows thrown by the sodium light.

The incoming administration is assembling its cabinet, a grim parade of loyalists ready to destroy and loot the very offices they’re meant to protect.

Independent outlets whisper warnings of a clown show, but the laughter is thin and cold. These aren’t jesters; they’re architects of destruction. They come with their hammers poised to shatter the structures that have shielded people like me—us "small folk"—from the storms. Safety nets are fraying, soon to be unraveled entirely, their threads repurposed to line the coffers of billionaires.

By day, I turn over plans in my head. Ways to protect what little I have. Currency devaluation. Savings. Stability. Cro dismisses my fears, and his calm is an anchor I both rebuke and cling to. He tells me it’ll be like 2016 all over again—bad, but survivable. He doesn’t see the dismantled guardrails, the missing sentenals, the way the country is slipping into the FAFO zone.

There’s talk, too, of resistance. Of standing firm. “Never comply in advance,” they say. Compliance is a teacher, and the Dear Leader—whichever face he wears—learns quickly. But resistance feels like a wall of sticks against the huffing and puffing of fairytale wolves.

The current president holds his seat a little longer. Until January 20th, I think. Time enough to offer pardons—blanket ones like that he gave to his son, Pardons for those who dared to defy the incoming regime. A bulwork for judges, journalists, and the voices of dissent in hopes that they will shore up our way of life. Independant journalists no longer just whisper urgings of "Do it Joe!" His lame-duck rule ends soon. I know he is a traditional 'rule of law' guy. Pardoning those who are on the upcoming regime's perceived enemies list may be a step too far from his buttoned-up sense of what is proper. Saving democracy has to be a better legacy than playing nice and hoping they will too. Do it Joe!!

The election—rumors of foreign hands, misguided domestic hands, satellites and billionaires, oh my! Some dream of investigations, of a last-minute revelation that keeps the fascists from the throne.

Dreams can be treacherous. Democracy, they say, is for the people and by the people ... if we can keep ahold of it.

Morning will come, eventually. Whether it will bring sun or four years (ONLY FOUR WE HOPE) of raging fires remains to be seen.

To lighten my spirits, I turn to the internet for a different kind of indulgence—cat videos, fainting goats, dogs doing absurd tricks, and the endless parade of people slipping on ice or tripping over their own feet. Laughter—even in the dark—is welcome.

The Calm Before the Storm??

Documenting Today’s Prices

There are days when everything feels still—like the world itself has stopped for a moment, letting the familiar take shape again. In northwest Indianapolis, at the grocery store, the prices of everyday goods have settled into a quiet rhythm. Prices that, for now, seem to have found a resting place, though it’s hard to ignore the knowledge that they won’t stay this way for long. They are lower than they once were, but I’ve seen these numbers shift before, and I know it’s only a matter of time before they rise again.

At the pump, unleaded gasoline stands at $3.30 per gallon. It’s a relief, yes—when compared to last year’s peaks. A dozen white eggs, at $2.29, feels almost nostalgic, like a simpler time I can barely recall. Whole milk, at $3.59, seems stable for now. But in my mind, I know the pattern. The world shifts, and the numbers on the tags change with it. These are fleeting moments, nothing more than brief pauses before the inevitable rise.

In the aisles of Kroger, the prices linger like faint echoes, each one a reminder that these quiet periods are never meant to last. All-purpose flour, at $3.79 for a five-pound bag, and bacon, now $6.99 per pound, reflect a time of uneasy calm. 80/20 ground beef, priced at $4.79 per pound, and chicken breasts at $3.99, almost seem out of place now. The numbers remain for now, but it’s only a matter of time before they’re swallowed up by higher costs—like the slow creep of change, rising like mist in the morning.

The heating bill—a stark reminder of the colder months—is now around $75 a month for an average family of two. Even something as simple as a man’s haircut, now priced at $20, has that same familiar weight: a number that once felt reasonable, now creeping higher. It’s as if the world has found a rhythm, moving steadily toward the next chapter, and the quiet comfort of today gives way to the unsettling anticipation of tomorrow.

I can’t help but remember the past, when prices felt like they would never change. When goods from the store didn’t leave me wondering how long I’d have to endure the next price hike. These prices, though manageable for now, seem to belong to another time—just as yesterday’s comforts feel like relics, lost to a world that keeps shifting, whether we want it to or not. The past is always a little bit clearer in hindsight, but it’s the future that’s the true unknown, always just out of reach

And so, I write these numbers down, not just as a record, but as a marker of the present. Tomorrow’s prices will rise, and these simple figures will be nothing more than a memory. I can’t stop it, just as I can’t stop time from moving forward. But perhaps, by capturing these moments, I can hold onto something real, something that feels like it belongs to a time before the next surge. It’s a quiet act, this recording, but in a world that shifts just beyond our reach, it feels like the only way to truly remember what we had.

Current Prices at Kroger, Northwest Indianapolis (December 2024):

• Unleaded Gasoline: $3.30 per gallon

• A Dozen White Eggs: $2.29

• Whole Milk (1 gallon): $3.59

• All-Purpose Flour (5 lb bag): $3.79

• Bacon (per lb): $6.99

• 80/20 Ground Beef (per lb): $4.79

• Chicken Breasts (per lb): $3.99

• Heating Bill (Family of 2, Average for Month): $75

• Men’s Haircut: $20