Lena Dunham
'The three hours I spent at the Javits Center Tuesday night, surrounded by campaign staffers and fellow surrogates for Hillary Clinton, are blurred and spotty. At a certain point it became clear something had gone horribly wrong. Celebrants' faces turned. The modeling had been incorrect. Watching the numbers in Florida, I touched my face and realized I was crying. 'Can we please go home?' I said to my boyfriend. I could tell he was having trouble breathing, and I could feel my chin breaking into hives. Another woman showed me her matching hive, hidden by fresh concealer.
I hugged the women I had spent eighteen months with, laughing and plotting and spreading our love for Hillary Clinton and her message. My party dress felt tight and itchy.
By the time we'd made it over the bridge, a friend called. 'It's over,' she said. 'I love you.' I was frozen. We stopped at the diner. No one was speaking as they ate, no one in the whole place.
At home I got in the shower and began to cry even harder. My boyfriend, who had already wept, watched me as I mumbled incoherently, clutching myself. 'It wasn't supposed to go this way. It was supposed to be her job. She worked her whole life for the job. It's her job.'"
Don't Agonize, Organize
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Anna's meltdown was pretty nice too, though.