I have to imagine, that when she died, suddenly she was standing next to her body looking at it like she was disappointed in its ability to hold on a little longer. I wish I knew what her curse words of choice would’ve been.
Her first words in spirit probably mimicked a lot of ours here…
‘Well fuck…now what.”
I didn’t know a lot about RBG, other than she was the last bulwark against the 1950s coming back to bite us in our collective feminist asses. I mourned with my sisters last night. My two beers, turned to six, before I gave up and went to sleep. I’m glad I can’t remember my dreams, because my writers mind would’ve given me SUCH nightmares.
I don’t need to go into my own mind for those, Mitch McConnell will take care of that in the waking world.
Well fuck…now what
Maybe she’ll haunt the halls of the court and let people know where the political bodies are buried.
While McConnell and his side are polishing their crosses, we’ll cling to our mental ‘Saint RBG’ medal and try to figure out what to do now.
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