As an outsider I'll never understand any of the internal national politics of the United States of America. I can only try to infer based on what I see on the news, read in the paper, and hear from those I follow online.

With that said—I'm genuinely concerned for the U.S.A., and the global community.

In 2016, Trump being elected could be blamed on 1) not knowing any better, or 2) assuming it couldn't be as bad as 'they' say.

This time, there's absolutely no excuse.

Trump is a facist—this is clear and evident when you compare his words and actions against the facists we know from history. His claims indicate he wants to be a dictator, and that his own party can't even stop him—even if they wanted to, which they clearly don't.

As someone living in Canada, the closest neighbouring country and ally to the U.S.A., I'm watching with a careful eye at what comes next.

Things I've been trying to consistently do in order to improve my sleep:

• Stop drinking alcohol
• Brush my teeth immediately after dinner
• Don't eat anything after dinner
• Wear my mouth night guard
• Drink decaffeinated coffee, regardless of time of day
• Run every morning
• Spend at least 45 mins outside each day
• Wake up when my body tells me its time to
• Black out any lights in the bedroom

It's a work in progress.

I don’t often remember the details of my dreams. When I do, the dreams are so vivid and clear that I sometimes terrify myself with my inability to distinguish between what’s real and what’s conjured up.

Last night, the dream centred on a family member’s memorial that is to be held this weekend. Kind words and gifts a plenty; celebrations will be had. That part felt grounded— real.

But, having the deceased present at their own memorial, in full human form and not dead like in Beetlejuice— I didn’t see that coming.

I was completely unprepared. There weren’t enough chairs. One short. The gifts, instead of being abundant, were lacking. One short. I had no clue whether the eulogy would automatically turn into a roast with the guest of honor sitting right there, or if I’d have to add in some over-the-top sarcasm just to balance things out. One short.

Of course, the dead don’t rise, and conjuring someone through a Sheldon-like Beetlejuice call is unfortunately not a reality. But the clarity of the dream has left me wondering:

What’s stirring in my mind?

What is to come this weekend that I’m not ready for? That I could never prepare for?

What unresolved conversations still need to happen with the dead that I’m unwilling to be a present participant in?