1/21/2025 Dear Diary,

What I Did Yesterday:

I hate Donald Trump. I despise Elon Musk; I loathe Mike Johnson; I abhor the entire Republican Party. Dare I say it? I scorn the people who voted for them. I said what I said. 

Yesterday was Martin Luther King Jr. Day. I passed the early part of the day reading his most famous quotes, viewing a documentary on his life, and a short animated children’s video that I posted on my blog. 

Speaking of which, if my blog were a person, it would be in the grips of an existential crisis, held in a 72-hour involuntary psychiatric hold, whispering, “What am I doing?” while a guard paces the corridor, watching, but not reading.

I am my mother’s keeper, and because we only have two areas of interest in common… then there was one. For me, politics is OFF THE TABLE, and she said she would abstain from news, too. For her, that’s quite a promise. She normally keeps her television on morning to night. Around 4pm, she was *Jonesin. Does anyone use that word anymore? Where did it come from? I’ll rephrase. She was like a crack addict without drugs. She couldn’t stand living without the barrage of commercials interspersed with bits of news, approved by the corporate billionaires who own the media. 

DING, DING, DING — Hold everything! 

I have an obsessive need to learn things before someone offers the information, so I can say, “I know.” That led me to research the origin of the phrase Jonesin.

*There is an alleyway, a rare sight in New York City, on the block between Broadway and Lafayette, called Great Jones Alley. It was once a meeting place for drug addicts and dealers. ‘Jonesin,’ the term referring to an intense craving for drugs, was coined by junkies in the alley.

Wow. I finally know everything.

I can’t stand television. I’d throw a blanket over it if I could. For that reason, my mother and I are rarely in the same room. I do what I need to do to maintain a modicum of sanity. Nevertheless, she has a habit of finding me to repeat every news story, BREAKING or not. I get detailed national weather reports, and warnings about the latest food recalls.

So mother was Jonesin for news and when I saw her heading for her remote, I had no choice but to intercept the pass. I had an idea. I searched YouTube and bingo; we watched the 1985 Super Bowl. That was 40-years ago, the year da-Bears, my mother’s obsession, dominated the sport. [head explodes]

*Spoiler: they won again.

She mourns the impending end of the football season. 

“What will we do after the super-bowl is over?”

This is when the Devil on my shoulder asks, “WHY AM I THE CRUISE DIRECTOR, ffs?” The disgruntled angel on my other shoulder forces a smile, and I hold my tongue. 

This season, I was forced to watch all the Bears’ games, rather than any other team that would have been more exciting. It’s not fun to watch bad football. Like every Chicago sports fan, her allegiance is to the city’s teams, and that is just sad.

I guess they are no sadder than democrats are right now. WOOPS! I almost broke my rule. I repeat, I refuse to say, read, hear, or see anything political. I felt so strongly about it last night that I threatened to block my son if he texted me one more quote from Trump’s inauguration. Some things are not funny. 

Today, as I wait for my name to be called at the gastroenterologist’s office, I fantasize about being anywhere else. I once dreamed of Spain and France. Now an involuntary 72-hour psychiatric hold with my blog sounds pretty great. I guess mine would be voluntary.