Recently I came across a post from October 2016 where I wrote this:

This week I diagnosed myself with a condition that I’m calling TAD, or [redacted] Addiction Disorder. The symptoms are that anytime you access any form of media, the first, second, and third things you want to know about are what kind of crazy shit [redacted] has done now. Or the moment you get into any conversation that’s even vaguely political, you want to steer it toward [redacted] in order to wallow in his nuttiness.

Getting the Republican nomination for president has given him a platform from which to push back the frontiers of assholishness, to scale previously unthought-of heights of douchebaggery, and he has not fumbled the opportunity. With every day that passes he achieves new personal bests, and thus new world records. He is the Katie Ledecky of angry orange gasbags, the Muhammad Ali of political asininity.

I’m a little worried about the withdrawal, which seems certain to begin November 8.

Oh, the innocence! We were so confident that he could never, ever become president. Almost nine years later, my TAD is stronger than ever. It is just impossible to believe what we are seeing transpire on a daily basis, it’s the eternal slow-motion car crash that you just can’t look away from, nor can you stand to look at it for very long. Only now it comes with intimations of fascism, like yesterday when the U.S. military rolled through MacArthur Park in Los Angeles for no good reason other than to be seen doing it.

One of the things I resent most about That Fucking Guy is the amount of space he takes up in my head. I think about him every day even though I know that it’s playing right into his hands; all he wants in life is everybody’s attention, all the time. I would like to live in a la-la land of obliviousness, but I feel obligated to keep up, and I want to know when the stormtroopers are coming to my town. So a cure remains elusive.

Also in the news this week: Jeffrey Epstein’s “client list,” long a source of fascination to the MAGA right on par with Hunter Biden’s Laptop. They got very excited in February when AG Pam Bondi said the list was “sitting on my desk right now to review,” the idea being that the liberal pedophiles/cannibals were finally going to be exposed.

So they were bitterly disappointed a few days ago when the Justice Department said, essentially, move along, nothing to see here.

This systematic review revealed no incriminating “client list.” There was also no credible evidence found that Epstein blackmailed prominent individuals as part of his actions. We did not uncover evidence that could predicate an investigation against uncharged third parties. No further disclosure would be appropriate or warranted.

This sent the Laura Loomers and Alex Joneses of the world into a tizzy, wondering why the change of tune, to which I have to say… um… IS IT NOT OBVIOUS? That Fucking Guy was a friend of Epstein… is on film hanging out with him… is it that hard to connect the dots? The Truth, as Fox Mulder used to say, Is Out There.

My favorite detail from all this concerns the jailhouse video from the night of Epstein’s death.

The video released by Ms. Bondi and [FBI head] Mr. Patel… appears to be missing a minute just before midnight. The digital clock on the screen jumps from 11:58:58 p.m. to 12:00 a.m. Officials did not immediately have an explanation for the apparent gap. [NY Times]

It doesn’t get any more cinematic than that, does it? I can’t help imagining this scene from the future equivalent of All the President’s Men, after the Bad Man is gone and America has returned to its senses.

I know, I know; dream on, hippie. All experience of the last nine years suggests that it will blow over, that the naughty will not be smitten, that the universe will continue to deteriorate. But let me have this minute of hope — I want it, I need it, I’m going to savor every second of it.