The list of things I cannot do on the day after turning 45:
Read news articles that force me to imagine the unimaginable heartbreak of being forcibly sent to a "home" I've never known while leaving my children behind in the only one I have.
Ascribe one shred of decency to Trump, Sessions, DeVos and all the other GOP motherfuckers who think it's any of their damn business what bathroom a transgendered kid uses at school.
Figure out how I could possibly help a woman in Oklahoma who needs an abortion since her state won't let her make decisions about her body without the consent of a man.
Believe that the National Endowment for the Arts is in jeopardy again from the same motherfuckers who care about bathrooms but not the arts.
Make calls to my elected officials and plead with their voicemail boxes to be human.
Cry for a second time. I have a strict one-cry-a-day quota and I used it up by 8:30 a.m.
Stop myself from fearing my cancer is growing again.
Accept what I cannot change.
Find a poem to comfort me.