During the past week, I have gone through many stages of something that can only be called Freaking Out-Pissed 'n Disgusted-Somewhat Drunk-In Denial-A Few Tears-Cautiously Hopeful. It's been the longest roller coaster and not a particularly fun one. I and my co-passengers are nauseous, tired, and ready to get the hell off.

I believe we'll approach the ride's end sometime late tomorrow. Jesus be a fence, I am pulling the off chain like nobody's business. Here is what I hope awaits. 

After exiting, my shaky-legged co-riders and I will be met by an enormous throng of exultant people handing out Pepto Bismol, flutes of champagne, mylar blankets, and gift certificates for well-adult stays in area spas and meditation rooms.

Hillary, in a diamond pantsuit handmade by scores of relieved Nasty Women, will be passed from shoulder to proud shoulder, beaming brilliantly. She will shed some of the forty years of tears she has accumulated by shouldering all manner of misogynistic and political bullshit. No one will judge this display of emotion but rather applaud it, likely crying too because this woman is an epic Olympian and, my god, we almost got our kitties grabbed.

The Screaming Yam will be pouting in Uge Field, the ungilded back forty of Mar-a-Lago. His comb over will have fallen to one side, a greased slick of blech weeping atop his shoulder. Around him, his evil minions will be combusting one by one, their maniacal hatred for pretty much everything too toxic to remain in the world. Like giant farts released from Yam's belching bottom, they will stink the atmosphere up one last time before dissipating into nothingness. 

The bullies will stalk around, punching angry fists into open palms. Their leader was knocked out in the last round! But ultimately they'll come to see that the hard-working She Nerd really cares for them in all the ways Yam never did and never will. They may not admit it. Bullies usually don't. We sense some acceptance when their choir chooses a new song and "Lock Her Up" is forever sealed away in the Vault of the Overplayed Threat Anthems. It's something!

The motley crew of wild-eyed cowards peppering Congress will decide to take a collective Xanax and remember that thing they once heard about Country. Country doesn't mean lying and obstruction and silly threats like refusing to hear any of the other side's Supreme Court justice nominations. It doesn't mean throwing women and people of color back in time like so many Sisyphuses with yet another world-sized boulder just so a few (mostly white guys) can enjoy the best view for a while longer. Nope, the wild-eyed meanies will realize that they and the pitiful majority of the media who've sold their souls for a popularity that is more ephemeral than they'd care to believe have erred. They're a huge part of what's made America feel not so "great" lately. Working together and listening to and respecting each other and facts is a better way to great.

Our country will step back from the precipice of full-scale destruction, exhaling gratefully as we wake from a nightmare that almost cost us too dearly. Much of the world will do the same, filing all those economic contingency plans into the Code Red safe that no one ever wants to open again and thanking the pantsuited army for saving the day. 

Our phones will go silent, "Unavailable" no longer ringing night after night after night.
Our televisions will appear broken, quiet, black moments swimming in the righthand corners once inhabited by hyperbolic, "we're all going to die!" lies and in the lefthand nooks more truthful embellishment.
Our garbage facilities will launch into overdrive, recycling the forests of campaign signs and mountains of glass bottles that were used and consumed during this dreadful carnival. 
Gary Johnson will head home and smoke up. Jill Stein will hitch a ride with an eager environmental crew and do something good for the planet. No one will ever utter the phrase "anti-vax" again.
Our children will see a hopeful way of being united instead of an ugly way of being cleaved. For so many of them, my sons included, their reality will be that a black man was a great president, and a strong, incredible woman followed in his footsteps. 

In just over twenty-four hours, when we get off this roller coaster, our shoulders will drop and we will smile. Pantsuit sales will skyrocket. We will join hands, and the healing will begin.