I Like to Watch | Designated Survivor, Season Three
Of all the many things that got me through the eight years of George W. Bush (rage, vitriol, a massive sense that things had gone completely wrong in the country, a belief that Cheney would figure out how to install himself as dictator, the horror of a pre-emotive war that was protested by more people than the Viet Nam conflict, and writing about all these things daily) was Martin Sheen, Aaron Sorin and The West Wing.
The stomach tightens and sinks.
The heart and lungs follow.
It’s a confounding reaction to a receipt of affection.
It’s familiar, and, therefore, oddly comforting.
But familiarity can be a curse.
A cursed reminder of what once went wrong when you were just trying to do things right this time.
This time it’ll be different, you say.
Why? You’re different, but what are you doing differently?