For my fellow Democrats, the stages of electoral grief have begun. First, the pulverizing shock. Then, the deep confusion. Finally, the burning questions, spreading across cable news green rooms like wildfire.
How could anyone vote for him? What kind of country have we become? What went wrong? And what country should I move to?
We’ve gone from a campaign of “joy” to the vacant humming of the old R.E.M. song “It’s the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)” — except without believing the parenthetical.