Deep Breath...

THIS IS A tough time to be an American human. We wake up each morning jittery and anxious, wondering what new outrage will cause us to reflexively fling our arms across our faces in a pointless attempt at self-defense. We are in harm’s way, the nation is in jeopardy, and the axe-throwing club on my street looks like it’s closing down.

You might not think this is a problem, but then you probably never threw an axe across a room and stuck it in a wooden bullseye, and then said, with shameless pride, “Yes, oh YES, I’m BAD!” Once you’ve thrown an axe, throwing darts in a bar just seems so unsatisfying. (Note: Axe throwing is not usually done in venues that serve alcohol, for obvious reasons.)

But few customers are showing up these days, and the hours are irregular. It’s just another casualty of an America so debilitated by the state of our politics that we don’t even want to get out of bed, much less pick up an axe. And I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, but an axe-throwing high only lasts so long. Eventually you start remembering why you wanted to throw sharp objects in the first place:

• The EPA is again permitting coal companies to flush ash into West Virginia streams. (Game fish now come pre-blackened.)
• The economy is on a sugar high that will inevitably end with a crash, followed by the government’s heroic response to stimulate markets by passing more tax breaks for the rich. (It’s called “Tinkle Down Economics,” how prosperity gets passed on to the deserving, who should never look up during these troubled times.)
• Endangered species are losing their protections, jeopardizing some of our most beloved animals. (Coming soon: Chick-fil-A’s new Crispy Bald Eagle Wrap!)
• Auto mileage requirements are being reduced to levels not seen since Hummers roamed the Earth.
• A third of the country thinks the Oxford English Dictionary defines “collusion” as “there’s not any” (“and even if there was, there’s nothing wrong with that”).
• Russia is planning on disrupting our elections again. Terrible for us, of course, but also bad for the Russian spies who’ve been secretly living among us, waiting for their orders to strike at our democracy. Too late. Facebook already did that. So all they can do is remain under cover, hoping the Motherland will call. In the meantime, they signed up for snacks at their kids’ school next week and that PTA auction is not going to run itself. (This year’s theme: “Springtime in Vladivostok.”)
• And, despite absolutely nobody asking for it, Dunkin’ Donuts has just revealed its latest product: Donut Fries. Wrong on so many levels.

IN OTHER WORDS, things are bad. So bad that I’ve been watching The Handmaid’s Tale for comic relief.

In desperation, many of us are placing our hopes on the upcoming midterms. We’re supposed to put our trust in God, of course, but for the next few weeks we’re putting our trust in Nate Silver and his polling, which so far suggests that change may be coming. (On the other hand, he also said Hillary would win, so maybe we better stick with God.)

But is a single election really going to make a difference? Are we expecting too much from a democracy already compromised? On a recent camping trip, I looked up at the stars and began to feel the utter inconsequence of our terrestrial travails. (I love stargazing on summer nights because I can marvel at creation and nobody notices I’m wearing shorts with black socks.) The vastness of space reminded me that our corporeal anxieties are miniscule compared to a universe that is already 13 billion years old, a length of time almost inconceivable to human understanding, unless you’re waiting for Hamilton tickets. (It’s also comparable to the combined ages of Democratic congressional leaders, but I digress.)

The stars we see are light years away and, in fact, light years from each other, and it’s hard to grasp such a vast emptiness. So I just imagine Mitch McConnell’s lack of human empathy, then double that.

The point is, humans are barely an asterisk in the long march of time. Millennia have passed before us—a time I classify as BDF, Before Donut Fries—and millennia will follow (a time waiting for a lasting progressive judiciary or for pigs to fly, whichever comes first). So during our short time in existence, how should we make our mark?

You do what you want. I’m just going to keep throwing sharp objects. (“Hey, Sean Hannity. Catch!”)