No one can find the rewind button, girl. So cradle your head in your hands. And breathe.

So we hug our babies tight and spread the love we can.

Tuesday night I drank a lot of gin and stayed up too late.

It was clear where the election was going, but I refused to believe it. Nick, usually the voice of moderation in the house, was gone. I rely on him to stop me from binge-watching a show until 4 am and being a zombie the next day.

So I kept pouring more gin and more tonic and slicing more lime. And serving my friend Andrea more beer.

This wasn't really happening, was it?

And then at 1:30 am, we threw in the towel. It was actually happening.

I woke up with that sick feeling in my stomach. I looked at my phone. It really happened.

The kids were all excited when they asked who won. And I had to say, "Trump."

Their first question? "Where are we moving?"

And I had to explain that that had been idle talk. Because Daddy's job is here. It was easy for us to say, because we never, never thought Trump would win.

Yesterday DC seemed like a post-apocalyptic town. It was strangely quiet. People were out, but very subdued. 

At school drop off, everyone looked traumatized. India clung to me in her classroom.

I started talking to another mom who said they were going to move to Colombia. Her parents are Colombian, and her husband is black. They don't believe they are safe under the new regime.

I started to cry.

I stopped to talk to a couple moms out front. They'd been crying. One friend, who is Turkish by birth, joined us. She feels particularly vulnerable as a Muslim woman.

We got a letter yesterday from the principal saying that they had assured the kids that they are safe, and that the adults in their lives will protect them. That all students regardless of religion and documentation status have the right to an education and protection within a school.

What. The. Actual. Fuck?

When have we ever needed language like that after an election?

I certainly joked about fleeing to Canada if McCain or Romney won. But I had not been made to feel unsafe during the election just for being a woman.

I am a blond haired, blue eyed white woman. I am not a person of color. Nobody's eye stops on me for racial profiling. I don't wear a hijab and fear that someone will threaten me for it.

I'm married to a WASPy white man. We have white kids. We don't fear that someone will bully them, or worse, for the color of their skin or their religion.

Nobody is telling us to go home. Although for me, born in India, I am tempted.

(Actually, though I was not, all four of my grandparents were born in the U.S. So I'm a legitimate voter in that evil Anne Coulter's fantasy world.)

Friends are saying we need to dig in and work hard in our communities and promote kindness. We need to volunteer for the social services we think are so important.

We need to stand up to bigotry. We need to point out racism, even if it makes us uncomfortable. We need to be on the lookout for bullying and stand strong against it.

I agree.

But I also think, hell, let's just walk away. I get that it's an elitist viewpoint to consider this option, because most people can't just walk away even when there's a hurricane approaching.

And the truth is, Nick's work is here. It is not portable. He supports our entire family.

But in my fantasy world, we all walk away. We take our talents and our brains to Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Portugal, wherever else.

We leave the country to those who voted for Trump. They can have what they deserve.

In fact, he doesn't give a shit about the bulk of them. They will get what they deserve in voting for him.

But we'll be stuck with it as well.

For now, I hug my kids every chance I get. I remind them that everyone is equal. I tell them they are safe and loved.

I tell my daughter she can do anything, anything. We're not talking about a woman presidency right now, because when we talk about the presidency I feel sick to my stomach.

I feel like I should be looking for the good in the world, but right now I feel hopeless.

And I can't seem to help myself: I'm having arguments with creeps on Nick's FB wall. They've crawling out of his past, out of the basket of deplorables. They are white, male, and angry.

They refuse to acknowledge that white privilege exists. They work hard! They're not privileged!

And they are so rude. Hateful and rude. And this from people who are ostensibly old friends.

They're defensive. They call us the "liberal elites" who think we're smarter than them. One felt the need to point out that he got an MBA from Wharton. So don't tell him he's not smart.

(So I didn't. I just pointed out that he was white, privileged, angry, and rude.)

There's no grace from the winners.

And it says to me that, at least for the next four years, we are all losers.

And I am really fucking angry. And don't know quite what to do about it.

She doesn't know statistics, or really even math, but she is 100% certain that Hillary will win

My daughter is four years old.

(And she unfortunately has a mother who can't figure out why the video is so narrow.)

She has only ever known one president: Barack Obama.

I took her with me to vote four years ago.

Ready to head out and vote for Obama!

She doesn't understand what a big deal it was that we elected a black man as president eight years ago.

For her, it's normal. He's always been president, and we wish that he could have another four years, but the laws are such that he cannot.

And now we're going to have a woman as president.

Of this she is absolutely certain. And it is also not a bid deal. Because in her world, this has always been a possibility.

Women are strong and smart and bold and can do absolutely anything. My daughter is strong and smart and bold, and if she wants to be president, she can be.

Of course it is like this.

For that unwavering belief, and for us to finally have gotten to this point in U.S. history, I am very, very happy.

Please and thank you. Many heart emojis.

Hi friends!

I have a favor to ask you. It is not about the election.

In fact, it is entirely about me. Surprise!

I know you are all readers, and that you're smart and interesting and have great senses of humor and an appreciation for the peculiar. I know this because I have great taste in friends, and because you would not have stuck around if this were not the case.

True facts.

OK. So. Here's what I'm wondering.

If you were to put my writing in a category with other writers, where would you put me? Like, if I were to aspire to cozy up to other books you've read and liked, what would they be? Or other authors, if you don't have specific books in mind.

I'm asking this for two reasons.

One, I'm in search of memoirs that help inform my writing, and that I think would likely be in the same category, except that my category, as I currently see it, would be a combo of mental illness/suicide and internet dating/comedy.

Suicide attempts are never funny, obviously, but sometimes you're in a private room near the ER waiting for them to tell you if your dad is still alive and you're so upset that you accidentally dial phone sex.

I'm not quite sure how that goes down. But it is true and real and part of the journey.

My list currently includes: The Suicide Index; An Unquiet Mind; Prozac Nation; as well as a re-read of Girl, Interrupted. Also flipping through my copy of Furiously Happy for fun and research purposes.

I'm focusing on mental illness, but I don't want to overlook memoirs that might be similar-ish or helpful, even if not specifically focused on mental illness. I'm thinking along the lines of Wild, my Cheryl Strayed. I saw the movie but haven't read the book, but the healing journey resonates with me.

That kind of thing. I know I'm being a little bit broad.

The second and realer reason is that I'm working on a proposal and I have to figure out who I might aspire to compete with and/or snuggle in with. Obviously, my voice is my own and I am not trying to change it, and I couldn't make it like someone else's if I tried.

But, for example, I'm looking for author X, as in, "If you like X, then you'd probably like Lisa's writing."

Like, I would love to put myself in with The Glass Castle. Jeannette Walls is an extraordinary writer, and she describes traumatic events without a drop of self-pity. Mary Kerr does this as well. Those are aspirational cozy-up buddies.

Turns out I've always been drawn to traumatic childhood memoirs. It just took me well into adulthood and many years of therapy to know that I had and figure out why.

Why so oblivious for so long, Lisa?

Anyway.

It occurred to me that asking you, people who both like my writing and are not living in my head, or dealing with my fears and insecurities, made a lot of sense.

I would super duper appreciate your thoughts and suggestions.

Hugs! Love! Thanks!

OK, so now you know

Last weekend I took Betty and the kids out to Leigh's farm. She has a big Halloween party every year, and this is the first time we've been.

It was amazing. Her silo bar is the photo backdrop. The barn was filled with skeletons and corpses and cobwebs and other creepy things.

I let Jordan and India eat as many treats, including cupcakes with disgusting gummy eyeballs on top, as they wanted. They were absolutely delighted with the whole affair.

And also cracked out of their minds on sugar all weekend.

I arrived without a costume. Luckily, Leigh has a stash. She lent me the Batwoman costume in the picture above.

It felt fantastic. I absolutely loved it.

Hand to God, I'd wear it all the time if I could.

Seriously. I would wear it to Target. To pick the kids up at school. I'd walk the dog in it if I had one.

So, I just saw this article that said that electric eels sandwich their prey to double the shock. And I was thinking, you know, that's a superpower I'd really like to have.

Which, I guess, is more villainous than hero-y.

Unless I was shocking bad people.

Would that be a cool thing to be able to do? I mean, if I could be invisible, or read minds, or fly, I might choose those over shocking people. But I certainly wouldn't turn this ability down, if offered.

Which superpower would you choose if you could?

I've said before that it would be terribly useful to be able to puke at will. So when someone is being hugely malignant, you could "accidentally" vomit on them.

It would be so satisfying.

You'd apologize profusely, of course. I mean, unless they were a mugger or rapist. Then you'd scream and run away.

And you wouldn't actually hurt them. Not physically.

Also, I want to start taking Krav Maga. I've only been mugged once, but you never know.

I'm not sure what it says about me that I'd like to have the ability to really hurt someone. Because as much as I joke about stabbing my husband, the truth is, I'd never do it.

I'm opposed to violence.

But I'm also small, and a woman. I'm very careful if I'm walking alone at night. But I still think it might be good to acquire some skills.

On a related note...this election, man.

Nick has discovered the joys of Facebook, and he's posted a couple times about politics.

From these posts I have learned that he has a couple smug, Trump-voting childhood friends. Who have no good pro-candidate arguments. They mostly respond with insults and references to "Killary" and stupid memes.

I've told Nick that he'd better never introduce me to these men.

Because I will dickpunch them for sure.

Normalcy?

You all, I m not sure what's going on with me but I am starting to suspect that I have become normal.

For years, I mean yeeeeaaaars, I tried to be normal. To be like how I thought everyone else was, or anyway, how most people were. To blend in.

I was sure I was weird. My family was weird.

Nowhere did I try harder than at college. And no matter what I wore or how closely I could get my accent to sound like that of my peers,  I never, ever felt like I fit anywhere.

But I could always kind of stand on the fringe or just stay quiet and not really be noticed.

What I didn't realize was that the people of most interest to me were not the norm. That's what made them appealing.

And after way more years than I like to admit, I realized how not interested I am in normalcy. How ordinary, to me, is an insult. I do not strive to blend.

I think I got to the point where I looked pretty normal, and I often dress kind of conservatively (don't I? I think I kind of do.) But at some point I knew for a fact that I thought differently than most people. And I enjoyed it.

It wasn't an effort to be different. It was just finally accepting who I was and reveling in it.

And now! Now I'm all, shit! I think that maybe I've actually started to...blend.

So then I think, maybe now I'm normal. And I need to stop seeing that as a negative. It just is.

I'm a wife, a mother of two. I unload the dishwasher and reload it and do laundry and get enough exercise and take vitamins and either cook nutritious things for dinner or don't and feel guilty about it. I do so many ordinary things, things that have to be done, and some of which I don't even mind, but don't find particularly interesting.

I'm sitting in the corner muttering "Shit! Shit! Shit!" Seriously, this thought is troubling.

It's not that I need to be some special snowflake. Or one of those carnival people who bites the heads off chickens. But I'm terrified that I've lost the funny. And the weird. I like the weird. I'm afraid that interesting things don't occur to me anymore.

I used to walk around seeing stories everywhere. But now, now I don't. I don't feel sparked.

And not in the terrible flat grey depression kind of way. Because angst is its own driver. This is more like, well, ok. Here's what it's kind of like.

I'm a city person. I joke that I like nature best through a window, and that's not entirely true but it really is some large percentage of the time and depending on the place.

So I like hiking if it's a serious physical challenge or really exotic. But just hiking in nature for hours is not my thing. Because at some point I am all, yes, the nature. It's pretty. It's pleasant. And these trees look like the trees an hour ago. And this tramping around is kind of repetetive.

And when can we bathe and put on cute clothes and find a corner cafe and get a cup of coffee?

That is how I feel. Like inside my head lately is perfectly nice and pleasant--which, don't get me wrong--is a positive in so many ways. But it is not of great interest to me.

Maybe now I've hit normal? Whatever that might be?