Caffeinated Politics

James and I were relaxing during the rain on Sunday. Following the much-desired electoral ousting of Viktor Orban and the hoped-for renewal of ties with the EU, we watched The Murder at the Vicarage, Agatha Christie’s first Miss Marple detective story. We read books and drank coffee and tea. As such, we were separated from the latest lunacy unfolding from Donald Trump. The New York Times caught us up on what had occurred while rain was pooling on the front lawn.

The image showed President Trump in a white and red robe, commonly used in renderings of Jesus Christ and in Scripture prophesying his return. Bright golden light, which is used to depict divine intervention in religious imagery, radiated from Mr. Trump’s hand as he touched the forehead of a sick man. A woman observed the scene with her hands steepled in prayer.

As he received two bags of a McDonald’s food delivery to the Oval Office on Monday morning, Mr. Trump told reporters that he did not catch all that religious imagery. He said he had thought the image he had posted to his Truth Social account had depicted him not as Jesus — but as a physician.

“I thought it was me as a doctor,” Mr. Trump said of the social media post, which he deleted after an outcry.

The post’s removal was a rare retreat for Mr. Trump, who had posted the apparently A.I.-generated image shortly after using the same platform to attack the American-born Pope Leo XIV, a vocal critic of the U.S. war in Iran. The appearance of the image had sparked an evening’s worth of backlash from religious leaders and Christian supporters who were hurt and shocked that Mr. Trump had appeared to depict himself as a Jesus-like figure.

In February, Mr. Trump deleted a racist video depicting former President Barack Obama and Michelle Obama.

While the rain fell in a steady and welcoming fashion at our home, there was a storm surge of insanity coming from Trump. The degree to which his tantrums and outlandish behavior are increasing adds to the evidence that his cognitive and mental health are deteriorating. Yet again, the citizenry of this nation was hit repeatedly with his bizarre turbulence that never stops. What results is that the political atmosphere feels overwhelming even for those who do not follow the news closely. Folks like you and me, who do follow the news and analyze it, are left feeling inundated, while the reasoned part of our brains screams for a vacation from what the mouth-breathers did to our nation in 2024.

The human body wasn’t built for this kind of nonstop derangement. I heard a psychologist on the radio talk about how the body evolved for short, sharp bursts of danger, but not for a continuous stream of delirium as we suffer due to Trump. I hear from local residents in our neighborhood experiencing their shoulders tense when a new notification pops up, or how their stomachs tighten when a fresh Trump-generated controversy breaks. It’s not just information they are receiving, but rather a physiological jolt.

What makes it even more exhausting, as evident from the attack on Pope Leo and the image of Trump as Jesus Christ, is the absurdity that accompanies the chaos. When unpredictable or surreal events occur, the brain works overtime trying to make sense of them. Psychologists note that unpredictability is one of the strongest triggers of stress.

James and I have created a home environment with music, movies, and books far removed from the feces-throwing idiot in the White House. We both follow the news, politics, and international events. James reads the French press daily. I have my newspapers and columns that inform me daily. We know that humans are resilient, but resilience has limits, and Trump is testing them hourly. We know that living in an atmosphere of constant chaos and purposefully driven pandemonium from Trump is not healthy. We can set our parameters at home, and we do.

After all, as a reader of history, I can attest that political eras rise and fall, but our bodies remain the same ancient systems trying to navigate a world that often has more, as Victorians used to say, cognitive tumult than they were ever meant to handle.

Turn off Trump. Turn on Miss Marple.