Progressives woke up the day after the election anxious and downhearted. The Blue Wave had turned out to be a Blue Trickle, and progressives, so accustomed to losing, felt predictably lost. Trump, using his deflect-attention-from-his-failures tactic, shrugged off his midterms disaster and promptly fired Jeff Sessions, naming a Trump loyalist (under FBI investigation!) as the acting attorney general who would close down or sharply limit the Muller investigation. Then Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg fell and fractured three ribs, and progressives thought oh god oh god Trump will now get to make three Supreme Court appointments! And then a white (again) male (again) killer slew 12 people in yet another mass shooting, this time in California (again). Not to speak of that state being on fire (again). Progressives were pretty depressed. OK, progressives! Time to wake up, sit up, and perk up! Democrats won the House of Representatives—by a little at...

This is a thought experiment, an exercise in imagination. No, it’s not touchy-feely, and there's nothing mystical about it. Imagination is a precious capacity we humans have (I suspect and hope other animals do too), although we often waste it on petty or even nefarious purposes. Only children and artists (and some scientists and inventors) stay in constant touch with the profound power of imagination.

What they once called Krystalnacht has just struck again, this time in Pennsylvania. What they call "domestic terrorism"—but is actually "white male Christian supremacy terrorism" has struck again, in mailed pipe bombs. But I refuse to forget what has dropped from the gorged news cycle. The Caravan.

Two factors underlie every issue at stake in the coming elections and in our country—in the world, in fact.

Dear Dr. Blasey, I long to address you as Christine, as do millions of other women who recognize you as a sister in suffering and endurance. But I wish to show respect for your scholarship and the work and expertise that earned you multiple graduate degrees plus your doctorate. I know that you’re married and have children but prefer to use your birth name professionally, hence the address I've used above. Writing this stings my eyes with yet-again rising tears. There is no way to know if you will ever read these words—and indeed, why should you? There's no way to know if or when you'll have the energy, desire, or time to even sample the millions of communications you've received from women spilling out the stories of their own survival from sexual assault, and expressing their gratitude for the inspiration of your courage in coming forward. Whether are not you...

This is the 14th time I've written this blog post, which was originally about Bill Cosby's sentencing. Then, over and over, news broke about Kavanaugh's nomination to the Supreme Court.

As I write this, it's still uncertain under what circumstances Dr. Christine Blasey Ford will testify Thursday before the Senate Judiciary committee about her alleged sexual assault in high school by Brett Kavanaugh, Trump’s nominee for a lifetime seat on the Supreme Court.

Returning from a hiatus always fills me with a kind of anxious obsessiveness in writing this blog post, as if I could possibly catch up with everything missed in the interim, as if I needed to bleed words.