The Last Eight Years Have Been the Swedish

As we count the seconds until George Bush moves back to Texas, forever, I would like to take a moment to admit something completely awful.

I had dreams during the eight years of GWB’s reign that I was actually friends with him, that he confided in me, that he saw me as a right wing spy in the left wing camp and in the dreams that’s kind of what I was.

We would go out with the other important people, have pizza, tell jokes. GWB took my opinions very seriously. He would listen to me more than he would listen to almost anyone. He trusted me to be completely honest with him. And I felt proud to know that I was liked by this guy, who I found, honestly, to be kind of fun, grounded and pretty clear headed about what was right and wrong.

I JUST WANTED TO FEEL LIKE I WOULD SURVIVE! And not only survive, but be close to the center of the ultimate power in our culture. And to be liked.

I had, simply, Stockholm Syndrome.

I only had the dream three times. We were like best buddies, joking, Bush et moi. He was my boss, sort of, and I was his smart guy who told him what was what. What a team. He was charming, I was charming, everything was possible. Then I’d wake up. After each time, I would feel disgusted. I wondered, what on earth is wrong with me?

Stockholm Syndrome.

I was identifying with my captor.

These Bush dreams were so different than the dreams I had about Bill Clinton when he was president, but that was back in the day when I still had an outsized libido.