Rage.

I have a cold that I need to shake because this cough makes me angry.

I think. Maybe it’s not the cough.

These hearings all day, in my ear as I made photocopies and collated materials at work, on my oversized desktop monitor as I answered and sent emails. On the tv at home while The Who read upstairs on his bed. In every other sentence of conversation as I sat on the floor with my friends and a glass of wine. And then the dissection on the radio, on podcasts. I could turn it off, but i can’t. She can’t turn it off. No victim can turn it off. And the fury and spitting rage coming off those disgustingly venomous men who just want to “clear his good name.” The insistence that this woman, who destroyed herself, put her family in danger, stripped emotionally naked in front of a bunch of dudes in three piece suits, that this woman is a pawn of the other side. That she’s playing cards for politics. That she and every other woman has an ulterior motive other than telling the truth — it infuriates me.

Yeah, maybe it’s not just the cough. It is kinda pissing me off, though.

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