I could write about how it’s been six days since the inauguration, five days since the march, and I am consumed with an overwhelming sense of dread. How I feel like the Women’s March will forever be a hopeful, joyful, bright pink buoy in the treacherous sea of the next four years, how each executive order, attack on the press, alternative fact, and messy press conference is just another strong wave threatening to crash into that buoy, pushing it further and further under the water until it sinks into the deep darkness of the ocean.