snap out of it

“Snap out of it,” Cher kept telling me in my mind.

“You recognize that this isn’t a situation where you can just tell somebody to just snap out of it. It’s not a situation where you can tell somebody to pull themselves up by their own bootstraps. In most of these cases, they don’t have that ability.”

Sure, I pick a favorite now and again and go through spells where I get a little obsessed with a certain kind, like a child latching on to a favorite cereal, but I snap out of it.

Nothing—not all of the plaintive and ongoing pleas from us members of the press to remember how awful Trump is and snap out of it—makes this as clear as the documentary Stormy does.

But then I force myself to snap out of it.