Not a lot to say today.
At least, nothing to say that hasn’t been said, and said again—and again—by everyone else. Besides, what is there to say about a president who admits to not knowing beforehand how hard it is to be the President? One might joke it’s like a rocket scientist complaining how hard it is to be a rocket scientist after his first few weeks on the rocket scientist gig, but that’s not a very accurate comparison. To become a rocket scientist, one would have had to undergo some sort of training, yes? … and a collateral function of training—whether it be in rocketry science, brain surgery, chess camp, barber college, flight school, massage therapy 101 … whatever—is that the trainee gets an inkling about what he is getting into. And face it, the only training this president has ever experienced was in how to be more of a Trump tomorrow than he was the day before.
That’s right, the only thing Trump knows how to do is to be Trump, and he’s not even very good at that. I can name several people, starting with Alec Baldwin, who is a better Trump than Trump. We might suggest he find another line of work—something more befitting of his limited skill set—but we’ve tried that, in several different ways. And we know now that taking suggestions is something else Trump isn’t any good at.
Anyway … speaking of not knowing what I was getting into … I’m tired and I wanna go to bed. As I told you, I’ve gone to work for my wife. She stages estate sales, which means, among other things, she gets to go through people’s homes like the FBI would if they were looking for stolen classified documents. For over two weeks now, she has been preparing a sale at a home in which the dearly deceased couple lived 68 years. Think about that—68 years in one house. And they were the sort of people who liked to hang onto things, if you know what I mean. Lotta stuff. Lotta stuff. And it’s all gotta be moved, sometimes three or four times.
The downside is, my back hurts, as do my feet, my fingers, my eyes (from squinting into crawl spaces and unlit cubby holes) and my butt (from sitting here too long writing this because my brain hurts, too).
The upside? … on my new job, I go for hours … hours! … without thinking even once about that obscene caricature of an adult male who just admitted—probably without the slightest hint how goddamn dumb it makes him sound—that he didn’t know it was going to be so hard to be President of the United States of America.
So then, as I said, not a lot to say today. I’m going to wrap this up and hit the ol’ sack-er-oo. Big day tomorrow. First thing in the morning, we’re going after the knick-knack shelves, and I need all the strength I can get. Sixty-eight years of knick-knacks, think about that.