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.
There was no thunder, no glowing doorway, no mysterious wind blowing through the apartment, and no choir of angels politely alerting me that physics had submitted its resignation.
The deck simply felt heavier.