To a megalomaniac like Donald Trump, being the focus of the world’s attention is to him like finding a source of free white sheets and hoods is to Steve King. Because of that, many say that the way to disempower the Trumpster is to ignore him. The spotlight is his oxygen. Shut it off.
I agree with that, but here’s my problem – I’m a Trumpaholic. I just can’t get enough of the guy.
Like all addictions, there is no rational explanation for Trumpaholism. I detest the man and I find it surreal that he is our President. But, then again, that may just be a source of my fascination. He’s like a car accident and I’m a rubbernecker. Actually, I’m more than a rubbernecker. I don’t just pass by, I have to pull over and stare until every twisted piece of wreckage is hauled away and every body bag is removed. Of course, in this analogy, the wreckage is the country and the bodies are ours’.
There might also be another reason for my illness. I revel in our President’s potential downfall. I glory in every scrap of information that dribbles out about his ignorance, his futility, and his corruption. Of course, these are only scraps. They are sometimes hearsay; sometimes rumor; sometimes allegation. A part of me understands that. But, that is precisely what entertains me. With each new tidbit, the case builds. Like reading a Dashiell Hammett novel, the growing suspense won’t let me put the story down.
So, what is the cure for my malady? How can I do what I know I must? How can I finally turn my back on CNN and begin to enjoy life again with reruns of Seinfeld?
There is only one sure way to get me the help I need. Dump the Trump.
We were right 