Midlife Meditation

Forget the title: this one's about how too much Trump is killing my muse. I've certainly written plenty about the insatiable maw who is our embarrassment-in-chief. Of all the topics I've covered since 2013, when Midlife Meditation came into being, none has consumed me as thoroughly as the phenomenon of Donald J. Trump. I don't have to go back and analyze any of those many posts to be able to tell you they're all critical of him. Trump is the living, breathing, bloviating embodiment of all that is wrong with America. He is a selfish, greedy, petty, heartless bastard who cares nothing for anyone but himself, and will not rest until his name is on the lips of every other human being. Trump has risen to national prominence not because of his lousy real estate empire, nor because of his golf courses or casinos, but solely on the sale and distribution of his name. Slap a gold "Trump" on a hotel, a steak, a bottle of wretched wine, a training course, a ...

I loved this when I was in junior high. But I never imagined I would BE this. Half my mouth is still number from this morning's dental ordeal. The occasion: whittling down a problem tooth to a nub so an artificial replacement can be glued onto it. This will be my fourth crown, making a complete set for the fifth tooth back in each quadrant. Last month, I visited my audiologist to get my hearing aids tuned up, the better to distinguish what people were saying to me when I was in Ghana. I also had the last of my pre-Africa vaccinations, and picked up my malaria prophylaxis, making me immune to all sorts of creepy crawlies. And, of course, in January space age lasers reshaped my corneas so that, for the first time in almost half a century, I can see the world with my own eyes. Add to this the portable computer I carry around in my pocket, and you can see that I really have become bionic, which, according to Dictionary.com, means "utilizing electronic devices an...