November 6 wasn’t just about losing an election. We lost elections before. Bush vs Gore was a tough one. Hard to swallow. 2016 was more unbelievable. Even the winner of that contest couldn’t believe what happened. But this time it’s different. I’m turning 77 next month. And today is the first time ever that I experience age as a handicap.

The next Presidential elections are taking place four years from now. Will I make it to vote? Will my vote carry any weight? Will there be an election at all? And, heck, I’ll be over eighty: can young people still take me serious by then? And what can I do in the meantime?

Losing this election limits the story of humans on this planet to ten, twenty years max. Winning would have given life on earth a little longer. Maybe it would have given us time to find solutions. Patience to understand the warnings of God, the floods, the fires, the warming of dear Gaia. But November 6 truly liberated the flesh-eating bacteria of greed.

Until now I always felt a little ill ease about having no grandchild to carry my torch. To inherit my father’s ethics, my feel of Original Blessing, the drive for a better planet. But today I feel comfort in not having to worry about my offshoot sweltering in desperation.

It doesn’t make me feel happy. It just makes me feel old. I can deal with my prostate, the rust in my joints, the holes in my memory. But I can’t deal with the helplessness, the desperation that has just set in. I’m not the worrying kind - I’m a lifelong optimist. But all of a sudden I’ve skipped any stage of worrying and can only think of staying in bed and pulling the blankets over my head.

World War II lasted about as long as the period between two Presidential elections. It was a dark time for my parents and my grandparents. But they were so much younger than I am now. And, despite their lack of any glimmers of hope, in hindsight time was on their side. When the fascists left, the earth was still healthy. Humanity had its bouts with influenza, polio and other discomforts, but the planet we live on didn’t even have a fever.

We’re eighty years down the road from the last days in the Bunker. Today the fate of mankind looks pretty grim. The waters are rising as fast as the temperature. Rome is burning. And in absence of a solution, we’re picking up fiddles and violins. Claiming it’s all business as usual: let’s dance the night away!

Maybe that’s what voting for Trump was: closing our eyes for reality. Why else would my friends vote for something they always taught their children not to do? Maybe it’s all about not being able to cope with reality, cutting down on misery by hastening the end.

Today is the first time I feel age as a handicap. Will I still be here in 2029 to find out whether there is light at the end of the tunnel? Will there be swastikas all around us? Will there be an election at all? Will there still be a glimmer of hope left? Will it be a blessing to see my mind fade in the sunset?