1 Year Under Trump: Chicago

1 Year Under Trump: Chicago

I’ll never forget how eerily quiet the trains were on the way into work one year ago, only one week after the city celebrated four sleepless nights in a row after the Cubs won the World Series. The group chain texts filled with anger and sadness, the tears that we couldn’t figure out how to stop from flowing, the wonderful male managers who told their female employees it was OK if they wanted to stay home that day. Colleagues just shaking our heads at each other, not knowing what to say, or, being too weary for words. I’ve never felt a collective energy of the city more strongly. That’s when I realized we’re truly a collective, and we can’t control what happens to us, but we can mourn together and support each other. The next day, we started to fight.

Things that Happened to Me Since Trump won:

  1. I injured my neck. Partially because shoulders and neck are super tight from being stressed out all the time.
  2. I gained the Trump 15…well, actually, 20 or so.
  3. I got into two physical altercations with complete (female) strangers. I’ve never been in a fight in my entire life.
  4. I argued with and felt anger toward close family members with an unprecedented intensity.
  5. I had to call 911 when a friend started having a seizure.
  6. I went on a date with a sociopathic convict.
  7. I dated a Trump supporter who turned out to be an accused rapist. (Oh and he lied about his age. Twice. And nearly raped me. ) Shocking, no?
  8. I feel like I experienced some PTSD being triggered due to past sexual harassment that was eerily excused the same way as Trump’s behavior was.

I guess Trump’s reign made my ginger feistiness truly explode.

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    The Ginger Phile has had the unfortunate disposition of being a ginger since birth. She has tried various medications to cure her gingervitis, including therapies such as tantrum-throwing. Her efforts have been to no avail. Instead, she is trying to write it out, via this blog. Unfortunately, she doesn't think it will bear a soul for her. The Ginger Phile is from the exotic land of Wisconsin, where she had daily inner turmoil over whether she was a ginger or a daywalker. So far, three of three votes say daywalker. She begs to differ, as someone recently told her they would want to be with her if they were biking at night because she is so pale.

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