Twice this week I passed through the Union Square subway station, home to thousands of encouraging Post-it notes on the tiled walls, to buoy people after last week’s election result. When I walked through on Monday morning, early, on the way to my CT scan, all of the notes had fallen to the ground, because they were never meant to last long, or bear important messages — only ephemera like shopping lists, phone numbers, notes to self. (Except suddenly, even the ephemera matters. Shopping: What can we buy to support the pipeline protest efforts in North Dakota? Phone numbers: Which elected officials have you called today and what have you asked them to speak out against? Notes to self: Get adequate sleep. Exercise. Take frequent breaks from news consumption.) By the time I was coming home, the notes were reposted. There were new ones.

The Uniqlo ad campaign is all over the walls of the same subway station. I can’t be sure of its timing, but the timing is kind of uncanny. The message on the sign above isn’t necessarily one that will sell parkas and cashmere, though. You can’t read it straight, it seems too bitterly ironic. Why, indeed?

This morning I rushed out of the house to my 9 a.m. appointment with my fate Dr. P. Somehow I managed to arrive on time. Phlebotomist B saw me, and once he had confirmed my birthdate and wished me a happy one (it is somewhat imminent), he tapped my vein while we talked about the election. He voted. He is an immigrant from the Gambia. I don’t know a thing about the political system of the Gambia beyond what Wikipedia can tell me (Phlebotomist B is always in too much of a rush to talk about things like this at length), but I did just find a headline from the past day, saying three journalists were arrested there, in advance of their upcoming election. So, I think it is safe to say, things are… not too good there. Now I want to cry, because our country has let Phlebotomist B down. Our country is now just about as messed up as where he came from.

I waited a few minutes, saw N the medical assistant. He was friendly, but only wanted to talk about Thanksgiving. Then Nurse Practitioner K came in. She told me straight off that my scans were great, nothing at all of concern. So then we were able to move on to talking about the election. All I will say is, she would be justified in billing me for mental health services today. She is a wonderful healer of the whole person. (And we talked about Christian Slater, of all people.) After a quick physical and EKG (a precaution due to Mekinist, which can cause cardiomyopathy), I was out of there, hobbling back to the subway. (Nurse Practitioner K thinks it is time for me to break down and get the cortisone shot already.)

And there you have it. My “lease” is extended again. I don’t see Dr P until early January. Who can say what will have happened by then?