I close my eyes this afternoon and picture the Capitol rotunda in Washington. I imagine a popcorn machine.

No disrespect to what is indeed a stately building. Many stirring orations have been given and many brave votes have been cast in its chambers. But today, like all of Washington I imagine, it must be chaotic - senators and representatives popping off the walls with the shifting news from the White House on deals or non deals or something in between on the President's approach to immigration.

I feel more spun around than Ginger Rogers, more disoriented than a zebra in the Arctic. I have never seen anything like the last 24 hours in Washington. Nobody has. Nor the last 72. Nor the last 72 hundred.

To say we are in unchartered waters, walking a tightrope without a net, or being shot out of a cannon is to do a disservice to to limited imaginations of all the possible trite metaphors for the moment.

We are beyond the absurd. This is Donald Trump's America and no one has any idea where we are going. In this world, I am reminded of the futility of predictions. A favorite old favorite saying of mine echoes in my mind, "he who lives by the crystal ball will eat a lot of broken glass."