As the Obama inauguration approaches, I find myself feeling slightly deflated. The post-election high is long past, and when I caught a glimpse of George Bush on a television screen, my only reaction is a faint flickering in my brain that says That looks like a scene from a movie. And it does, really, in the same way that clips from the Kennedy/Nixon debate strike me not as political but historical, theatrical. I see George Bush in front of a podium and my brain just turns off. And with Obama’s historical presidency looming – laden with expectations and hopes and fears from everyone, including myself – George Bush just looks very small and ineffectual. His ears seem frail and pink, like a mouse. He’s just... there.

In the last few weeks, and with the help of friends, I’ve been tallying up weird facts - George Bush has been president for longer than 1/3 of my life, as an example, as pointed out by Jon Lipe - and all I feel is the weird sensation of quiet relief I get after leaving the presence of someone that I vaguely dislike. In other words, I find that the vitriol has gone out of me.

In the many years of my political awareness, my friends and family - not a conservative bunch, by any means - found my liberal fervor amusing, and fed it with random objects: a George Bush voodoo doll, complete with pins and voodoo guide. A George Bush stress relieving doll (to whose head I affixed a miniature penis left over from a college sex-toy party – the pun, hopefully, is obvious). A set of "Bushism" coasters. (The latter a gift from my roommate’s Republican mother, given to prove that “not all conservatives are awful.” I’m still not sure where I stand on that opinion*.)

They have been part of my possessions for a while - some of them since my sophomore year of high school - and now, suddenly, I don't know what to do with them. It's easy to keep them, I suppose, but they seem ancient, like an Eisenhower pin sitting in the bottom of my grandmother’s dresser drawer – dated, pointless. I wonder if the secondhand market will soon be flooded with these objects - the millions upon millions of faintly mocking keepsakes that have pervaded retail establishments for eight years now. Decks of cards and bumper sticks and pins and patches and figurines and boards games and t-shirts and clocks counting down to the end of his presidency. What do you do with that clock when it strikes zero? Besides pour champagne, I mean. Where do these things go?

Eight years might not seem like a lot to some of you, but I'm 22 years old - 8 years ago I couldn't legally drive or vote, and was barely done mastering the finer points of Algebra 2. I can't remember a time when Urban Outfitters didn't sell quirky anti-Bush merchandise, when Jon Stewart wasn’t ripping into his latest inanity. I can’t remember when he was just some governor from Texas.

Four years ago, if you’d ask me what I’d do when George Bush left office, I’d have had a lot of ideas, most revolving around joy and elation. Now, I can only muster up the emotion to metaphorically pat Barack Obama on the back. If I could say anything to him, it wouldn’t be “GEORGE BUSH IS OUT OF OFFICE!!!1!!elventyone!1!” It would just be “Please. Please fix it. I’d really appreciate it.” And if I saw George Bush, I might feel compelled to give him a hug. He’s been a pimple on the butt of politics for so long, I actually have a little bit of sympathy. He might have spent eight years working actively against more or less all of my principles and trying to put discrimination against me in the constitution and generally screwing up the universe, but he’s also one of the most mocked individuals in the entire world. Don’t you feel bad for him? Maybe even a little?

Don't get me wrong. When my grandchildren ask me about George Bush, I will speak to my distress about his tenure, the many things his administration destroyed, his ignorance and foolishness, his arrogance, and all of the opinions that I've held. But where I once felt intense anger, I now only feel faintly sad. I sit on my couch and flip through the Bushism coasters, smiling faintly at the memory of the gaffes, of his ridiculous, surreal terms in office. Will I ever be able to associate the word “president” with positive emotions? I’m not sure.

A little over a year ago, several months of my existence were spent battling against a crazy, horrific roommate, who made me and my other roommates utterly miserable. I loathed her very existence, and it ate me up in ways that I can’t even explain. Eventually, she moved out. While the story of her is told over and over again – it was that ridiculous – once she was gone, all I felt was pity. I couldn’t sustain the anger. It was pointless and consuming. “Oh, her? Yeah, she was pretty awful. But she’s gone now. I don’t know where. And I don’t think about it.”

I will never forgot or gloss over George Bush’s shortcomings, vile and numerous as they were. But I can’t be angry anymore. I just can’t. I’ve got to leave some room for hope.



*Just kidding**

**Sort of.

From what I understand, it's a grave insult in Arab culture to throw your shoe at someone. The question is, is this more or less insulting than what Bush has done to the entire world during his presidency?

Just a thought.

(Also, this kind of reminds me of the time that some jackasses screamed "Nice ass!" out their car as I ran around, scooping up groceries from a broken bag on the side of the road. When their car hit the bottom of the hill and a red light, I ran down and threw my shoe at their car. They called me a crazy bitch. It felt really good.)

If I see one more article on how Bush and company are attempting to expand the definition of "abortion" to cover various forms of contraception, I am going to cry. Or something.

November cannot come fast enough.

<3 The Onion