I don’t know who needs to hear this, but if you’re waking up every morning with a vague pain in your chest and wondering if it’s anxiety, indigestion, or democracy collapsing again — same.
Every day I open my eyes, and there he is. Donald. Trump. Still. In. The. News.
Not a cameo. Not a footnote. Full-blown lead story. Every hour. Every update. Like Groundhog Day, but with more indictments and worse hair.
Remember when the big idea was that humans could evolve? That countries could be run by grownups? That peace was the point, not the punchline?
Now it feels like all the major decisions in the world are being made by someone stuck at emotional age nine. And the rest of the so-called leaders? Let’s just say the hiring process clearly didn’t involve anyone with a sense of ethics, foresight, or emotional regulation. Psychopaths used to run countries in the history books. Now it’s a business strategy.
And the news. Oh, the news. The news the news the news the news.
We were promised journalism would inform us. Hold power to account.
Instead, it’s a horror anthology with a soundtrack of sirens and clickbait.
Somewhere between the latest war and a cost-of-living crisis, we’re now expected to care about how much ketamine Elon Musk has had this week.
And why he’s once again spending his time publicly arguing with teenagers.
No, really.
Grown men with private jets and space programs are picking fights with high school kids who make their protest signs on Canva and believe the planet deserves a future.
They’re treating social media like a battlefield, as if scoring points online against a Year 12 student will somehow fix inflation, lower emissions, or improve global diplomacy.
It’s not leadership. It’s ego with a Wi-Fi connection.
This was not the deal.
The deal was flying cars, world peace, and a universal translator for when your cat gives you that look.
What we got was a chaos feed in our pocket and the creeping realisation that our nervous systems were never built for this.
Still, we wake up.
We switch on the coffee machine like it’s our defibrillator.
We doomscroll in the dark like responsible citizens with trust issues.
And then we whisper the sacred prayer of modern existence:
“Maybe today, Donald Trump won’t be the news.”
He always is.
Meanwhile, other things that make you want to scream into a linen napkin
While millions of people skip meals, ration medication, and pray their rent doesn’t go up again, Jeff Bezos is reportedly dropping $10 million US, that’s about $15.5 million Australian, to marry his second wife on a private island in Venice.
Yes. Really.
An actual gazillionaire is about to host a wedding so opulent it makes Versailles look like a backyard barbecue. The venue? San Giorgio Maggiore, a Venetian island known for its breathtaking views and complete absence of irony.
The bride? Lauren Sánchez. Former TV presenter. Occasional astronaut. Regular in the “who’s who of the world’s most dramatically posed Instagram photos”.
The rest of us? We’re still watching iceberg lettuce prices like it’s a stock market and quietly wondering if we could afford to be slightly less alive this month.
Of course, he can spend his money however he likes.
But maybe, just maybe, when the world is on fire and families are skipping breakfast so their kids can eat dinner, $15.5 million on a destination wedding feels less like romance and more like a slap in the face with a diamond-studded fan.
Eat the rich? We can’t.
They’ve booked out the catering.
#TrumpAgain #NewsOverload #CoffeeBeforeChaos #ElonVsTeenagers #PsychopathsInPower #EatTheRich
