You want to scream. You want to break something. You want the world to go away. But it won’t. So you run.
You want to tell these angry old white men that this charade has no place in our country. You want to move to a blue state and build a wall around it, charging the expense to Sen. Graham. But you can’t. So you run.
You want to go to every young woman in the U.S. and say no, this is not how it has to be. You are 51 percent of the country. You can take the whole joint over. Take this travesty and make it into a cause that finally gets something done. But you can’t. So you run.
You want to blot it all from your mind. The screeching senators, the woman with her bottle of Coke quaking in fear, the red-faced picture of entitlement shrieking about how this has ruined his life. You want something — anything — to happen to turn it around. Two women pouring their hearts out to a senator trying to escape in an elevator. Someone stepping forward to say, enough. Stop this insanity. But it doesn’t happen. So you run.
You want the world to be a good place, a decent place. A place where horrible things don’t happen to girls. A place where bad guys don’t get away with things. A place where politics don’t override human decency. But it isn’t. So you run.
And you wait for Nov. 6.