Trickle down from Trump election surprise

At least someone believed in woman card

Way to get over being crushed by election results:

On way home after sleepover that followed election night party that was supposed to be a celebration but which instead turned into a funeral for our hopes and dreams, stop at farm stand to get apples. Get a phone call, sit in car talking, turn off engine briefly, go to turn it on and realize I kept the lights on and the car is dead.

Go back into farm stand, call AAA, and talk to owner's mother while waiting. Woman comes in and when owner's mother asks how she is, woman says she is terrible and can't believe what has happened to our country. Owner's mother says she doesn't trust any politicians and it is all in the hands of God. This election outcome is fine with her because it might make God come sooner.

She makes a good point about my battery. If it died that quickly (like our hopes and dreams) it is probably bad. I put that in my pipe (no marijuana even though it is legal and I could use something) and smoke it. She gives me a free apple.

Stop at Breezy Acres for coffee cake. Evelyn says one woman came in and said she would pray for Donald Trump to be a good president. Another said she was trying very hard to focus on her own life. I buy warm cranberry nut bread and go drink coffee and commiserate with a friend. Then...

Go to automotive place and learn I actually did need a new battery. Wait for battery. Get pep texts and have pep talk with son. Multiple group texts going on in which we try to sort this out. People are afraid. For the country and for certain rights. And let's not forget that horrible Mike Pence. But let's think on the bright side (still in texts) of the good we in Mass did by helping Democrat Maggie Hassan win her New Hampshire Senate seat.

Call dog sitter (Trump fan) and tell him of my whereabouts. How are you? I ask. "WONDERFUL," he says. I start to cry. Please don't gloat, I say. I say through sobs, I just can't stand the thought of that horrible man in the White House. And please tell your wife too. He says he will.

Meanwhile, I find my distraction in booking multiple rides for upcoming trips to Boston. I need spots looked at and spots removed, but the spot remover doctor doesn't have time to possibly biopsy other spots, so I need to make separate appointments.

For this Friday, book trip to Brigham Dermatology on Boylston Street in Chestnut Hill. "Do you have an escort or wheelchair, crutches or cane?" No I don't.

Next Tuesday, trip to Mohs (surgery) center at Faulkner Hospital. "No escort, wheelchair, crutches or cane?" Correct.

Next Wednesday, return trip home from 450 Brookline Ave. after 3 p.m. light therapy on my skin. Return trip home at 6 p.m. "No escort, wheelchair, crutches or cane?" Still the same.

And so on and so forth for appointments in December. Still, hopefully, with no escort, wheelchair, crutches or cane.

In between times, an overnight after the Mohs being arranged. I will either have two procedures or three. One will be on my right hand so I don't know what to say about writing or tennis.

Going to try to detox from political news.