Anxiety Note:
A Simple Request
13 November 2018

ΒΆ Kathleen’s therapist told her recently that doctors in the city are reporting a lot of cases that look like a mild sort of PTSD.

I know that I am one of the afflicted. It involves, among other symptoms, a fundamental uneasiness that no amount of walking-around-on-a-sunny-day can assuage. It has little to do with the latest news, although the Times manages to jolt me with some kind of shock every morning. What I can’t tell is whether knowing a lot of history makes it more or less severe. What the man does doesn’t bother me so much as his personal appearance. He is obviously (why hadn’t I seen this before?) the reincarnation of Edward Gorey’s Beastly Baby. Obviously. 

The tumult about Brexit doesn’t help. Now, this is clearly a matter of my knowing too much history. If I were just an ordinary educated American, I would not have the sense that I do of a political class that has completely collapsed. There is simply nobody to take Theresa May’s place! Jeremy Corbyn’s leadership of the Labour Party is the worst world-historical bad joke that I’ve encountered in my lifetime. Can’t somebody please tie him up with Boris Johnson and Jacob Rees-Mogg, attach a heavy stone, and deposit the bundle in the Mariana Trench? I’ll feel so much better. 

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