On pins and needles

In light of all the talk-talk that will be going on today over the water coolers and the airwaves, I feel brevity is in order.

I volunteered.

I waited in line 1 1/2 hours. I voted.

Now I am in bed. The covers aren’t over my head yet, but they are up to my chin. I’m recovering from bronchitis. Good news: A few days of rest. Bad news: There will be no celebratory champagne or drowning in sorrows once the returns are in.

Damn those antibiotics.

Now, I wait. I pray. I hope. I hand it over to a higher authority.

The freakin’ Electoral College.

Blog for change

 

Two things have me fired up today:
One, I participated in a campaign survey by phone the other night in which the caller spoke in a very thick accent. So much so that I could barely understand her questions. On top of that, the static on the line was so pronounced I imagined a frayed wire stretching from my home in the Midwest all the way across the Pacific Ocean to the country to which this work was outsourced. Please tell me I’m wrong about this. Disturbing to say the least.

Two, while strolling the booths at our city’s final art festival of the season last weekend,  a pre-teen boy with a clipboard approached me, asking in earnest: “Would you like to volunteer for Obama?”

I set down my iced tea and grabbed the clipboard to give the flier a cursory glance. Then I gave him the most honest answer I could: “I’d love to but I just can’t. Really. I wish I could.”

As our group moved on, I felt my face grow hot. What kind of lame-ass answer was that?

“You know, I’m just not a knock-on-doors kind of person,” I said to my friend and her college-aged son.

We all nodded in silent agreement and pressed on through the crowds. But it’s been bugging me ever since. I know how much this election year has been bothering me, gnawing at my conscience and worrying me.  

So it is with an odd sort of kismet that I found this today.  Read this post.  If you are enlightened, pass it on.