For those of you who found your way here because you were looking for something different, I am sorry. But maybe stay with me anyway…

There are many things you can say about Donald Trump. So, so many things. So many things it makes my head hurt. So many things I get dizzy thinking about it. So many things I can’t even find the words…

Maybe that is the head trauma.

The one thing that you can say as an actual matter of fact is that the man leaves a nasty trail of fiery destruction and shattered dreams in his wake. A wake that smells like privilege, fast food, and the confusion and despair of the people he has targeted. Also… ew.

That is just fact. 

Everything he touches turns to dirt. And everyone he encounters feels dirty afterwards.

You can see it on the faces of world leaders, uncomfortable in his proximity, and you can see it on the face of his wife, who shows clear signs of repulsion towards him.  

Feeling dirty. 

We all feel it when he looks at or mentions his daughter, or when he talks about young girls in dressing rooms, or when he actually says “grabbing pussy”.   

We feel it when he talks about immigrants or infested neighborhoods. It makes us feel unclean. 

Trump has the dirty touch. 

He turns what he touches into dirt. His companies, his investments, his real estate – all turned into an enormous pile of tough steaks, flat wines, failed magazines, and exploitative “universities”. 

He turns the lives of those around him into dirt as well. All the trials, all the jail sentences, all the indictments, all the dirty secrets revealed – well, I’m sure not all. Let’s be realistic. 

But his wake is dark and dirty and he relentlessly and insidiously ruins innocent (and not-so-innocent) lives with the narcissistic bravado of a comic book supervillain.

But something happened last Monday night.

I noticed a small child-like bud sprout from the otherwise barren scorched earth touched by Trump. 

A dancing, fluorescent green, perhaps dim-witted sprout of hope shimmied (literally) onto the Dancing With The Stars stage and sent out a faint signal of hope.

Maybe even after the dirty touch of Trump, one might still reach for joy. 

It takes a special someone to be a glowing green bulb with enough chutzpah to show his (snide little?) face on the dancefloor of the United States. 

But Sean Spicer did it. And it was awful and it was brave, but for me, it was mostly sad. 

It was sad that he was allowing himself to be paraded out in a ridiculous green outfit that could only be a veiled reference to his bush-hiding antics. 

It was sad that Trump promoted him on Twitter, and Spicer is still entangled with his abuser.

It was sad that this guy is being normalized even though he has contributed to straight up evil. 

But for me, I was so shocked to see he had survived. 

There was maybe life beyond the dirty touch of Trump. 

Maybe the absolute dirt he turned everything into could become fertile ground.

God knows it is filled with enough bullshit.

So, maybe Sean Spicer is our pathetic little green beacon of hope. 

If he can pull out of the dirty touch orbit, maybe we all can.

Maybe the dirt and shit he has spread will be the fertilizer that will bring forth change.

Things may appear hopelessly dirty in the white house right now, but...

• We have the most diverse congress in the history of the country. 
• Gerrymandering has become a household word. 
• Voter registration among young people is up. 
• The plight of the immigrant is getting more attention than ever.

There are seeds of hope in that big pile of shit that is the dirty touch of trump. 

Weird, fluorescent green, little seeds of hope.

Tell your friends...