Clinton, South Carolina, Tuesday, December 18, 2019, 3:24 p.m.

Everyone gets sick every now and then. I don’t get sick often. The last time was 14 months ago. I’ve reached the age at which I realize that disaster is never more than a single malevolent germ away.

Last night it was hard for me to do any kind of work. Almost anything made me drowsy. I couldn’t read for more than a few minutes at a time.

Earlier today, I got some work done. Unfortunately, the entire House of Representatives is getting up and talking about how President Trump should or should not be impeached. I can’t imagine why many stations are televising it. I enjoyed the hearings when they had diplomats, FBI agents, and the like. Today’s debate of talking points reminded me of the old Jerry Lewis telethons. I never liked them, either, though I’m sure the proceeds helped some folks.

Me? I’d impeach Trump for the 6-page letter he wrote Speaker Pelosi alone. That’s one reason I’m not in Congress. There are many more.

In this country, we’ve got to get some relief. The Trump Administration is the equivalent of John Eubanks fighting the lynx he thought was a raccoon in the old Jerry Clower story. Big John yelled for Mr. Barron to just fire up amongst them because “one of us has got to have some relief.”

I long for a day when I can go a minute, an hour, maybe even a day, without thinking about Donald John Trump, or any other president if we ever have another during my lifetime.

The first of Trump’s lies, to my recollection, was when he said he’d pay for his own campaign. Then he was going to build a wall that Mexico was going to pay for. He has said he was going to blow North Korea, Syria, Iran, Venezuela, and perhaps Colin Kaepernick off the face of the earth. Now, of course, he and the dictator of North Korea, Kim Jung’un, exchange tender love letters in lieu of denuclearization.

I’m on one side, and I’m mad. The people on the other side are mad. Everyone is mad. It’s hard to get away. Almost no one has the slightest sense of humor. I watched about half of a crummy movie today. It had Robert Young and Charles Laughton in it. Laughton was a cowardly ghost. It was amazing how many stations were running the House impeachment telethon. There weren’t even any voice-overs. I could’ve used an occasional crack from Chris Matthews or … Kirk Herbstreit.

If a person goes to a doctor’s office and sits there long enough, eventually he’s going to catch something from somebody.

I believe we get what we deserve. I’m not sure whether Donald Trump has made us all monsters or whether we are collectively the monster that made Donald Trump. Most arguments over what came first, the chicken or the egg, involve neither eggs nor chickens.

Starts don’t matter. Finishes do. Most people agree that the world has gone to hell. They just don’t agree on who is responsible. That’s because they all are responsible.

I’m slowly working my way out of the crud or rockin’ pneumonia or boogie-woogie flu. I feel like the long-ago Roman who stepped out on the stoop, wearing his tunic or toga, looked up at the mountain, yawned and said, “I’ll be. Vesuvius is acting up a little. Oh, well.”

 

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My eighth novel is called Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.

Lightning in a Bottle is now available in an audio version, narrated by Jay Harper.