Six months later, I was still single, Trump was still president, and Harvey Weinstein’s trial still hadn’t begun. People had gradually accepted the normalcy of this new era—collective outrage quieted to a hum, growing loud again only when news broke of anti-trans legislation, a heartbeat bill, or a xenophobic idea that would imminently be written into law. Injustice felt like dull, constant back pain: Unless our sciatic nerve was acting up, we simply learned to live with it.
