I’ve wanted Hillary Clinton to be president since 2008. I was not anti-Barrack Obama when they ran against each other, I was pro-Hillary Clinton. I much admire the fortitude and dignity with which President Obama has served, and now, I look forward to eight years of President Hillary Rodham Clinton.

Although I am flummoxed. I honestly don’t understand why the entire country isn’t acclaiming her, having parades and joyfully elevating her to the office of POTUS. I’m weary of witnessing the results of culturally embedded misogyny and years of Republican slandering and filthy politicking, and, too, sad.

But, I can’t — no, I won’t give in to despair. I believe in my hear that President Hillary Rodham Clinton will be able to begin healing the world, to bring focus and light and love to those places where we can all agree.

I kept myself busy today. When I left for the gym at 6am, it was 34 degrees and the car was gorgeously frosted.

It doesn’t really show, but the roof of the car was glistening as if glittered from this first frost. It was a beautiful way to start the day on which Hillary Rodham Clinton would be elected as the first female president of the United States.
Inside the car, you can see the temperature — 34 degrees — and how beautiful the frost windshield, like living behind a fairy land. I love watching it slowly melt away as the inside of the car warms up and cozies me.

It was a wonderful way to begin my day. I worked out with some desperate vigor at the gym — somehow this morning I had gained five pounds from Friday — which is not possible as I have eaten below my calorie count every single day except free-Sunday — and I definitely did NOT eat five pounds worth of food even then. Odd.

By the time I left the gym the sun had risen. It was a gorgeous day. I love Fall weather. The cool.

I was, however, going nutso. So, I decided I would live in my faith and hope and love and light and bake a red velvet Hillary Clinton victory cake.

I tripped to the grocery store for the ingredients I needed for the cake and the Thai Chicken Rolls I was making for dinner.

Came home. Baked. Chopped. Roasted some tomatoes that were getting close to past their usable date. Vacuumed. Scrubbed the kitchen and bathroom. Read. Called the library — they’d not recorded as returned one of the books I’d taken back yesterday. They were lovely, as always, took care of it, called me back and apologized. Love my library.

Speaking of books, I will book blog soon, but, yesterday on errands I visited my dear Marlene at CURIOUS IGUANA BOOKSHOP [click here] in downtown Frederick. I used to be one of their best customers but I haven’t been in there in ages. I don’t have the money to buy books anymore since moving to this apartment and simplifying my life. I buy almost nothing anymore. Which is good, but, also, I miss buying books and seeing my friends there at Iguana. So, I got to spend a lovely time with Marlene, in the back office, chatting and catching up. Good times.

Good people. The world and my life is full of them.

Anyway, I made a cake. Look!

The finished product. I used sprinkles! And I — Charlie Smith — made something red, white, and blue — which is a first, believe me. I don’t do the national thing at all. This is about Hillary’s pantsuit colors.
In process — yes, I used a Santa plate — I already have the table set with Christmas stuff. Seriously, I am reaching for childhood comfort feelings. Waiting for them. Waiting. Waiting.

We still haven’t cut into it — I’m too nervous and afraid to jinx things. I have retreated to my room — I go out to the living room with sister every half hour or so but I can’t watch non-stop. It’s making me crazy.

I posted a picture of my cake on Twitter — my first post in weeks. I did it from a distance, still haven’t actually signed in to see what is there — although Marlene told me she had sent me a DM — so, I know there are good things waiting for me. It may soon be time to go back. I’m torn.

I’m not quite at peace yet. There are stories I need to share. But, I think, not there. And, not here.

Bachardy and Isherwood and I need to talk to Steve. About. My. Disconnects. Mismatches. Missed matches. How beauty and beasts and youth and age experience and secrets and sorrows and silences and emotional somersaults and … never mind. I’ll bake cakes.

I miss my friend, Steve, because the stories and things about which I need to talk right now were the kinds of things he listened to and didn’t judge.

I am kind of lonely. Longing for feelings or feeling the need for longings long unfelt or felt for too long or something confusing all the details of which I could say out loud to Steve and — shit, I miss him.

Yes. Anyway, my cake. The returns. Here I am, going.