I have a crazy country moving inside my lungs. It gives me air. I breathe through it, but it agitates me, brings me to tears. So many crazy things go on in it, it is almost like reading magical realism every day knowing that it is not fiction, that what seems to be the invention of some crazy writer is really happening. And I feel like laughing but I also feel like crying, like screaming WHY? WHY does it have to be that way? Why should we have a First Lady who disseminates a crazy letter from one of her advisors and then rejects it and attributes it to the work of a hacker? She is like that. I have known all along she carries within her the seeds of her own undoing, because there is no light that can penetrate the dense fog that rise up and envelopes her heart.