Breathless, almost trembling and thrilled, like that tightness in your body standing in front of a new, true love waiting for that first touch. Heart racing, mind overwhelmed into a perfect blank slate, waiting to write together a new history for yourselves.
It is going to be utter torture after I race off to vote this morning, drop our leaf blower to my friend Kate, drop Jake off at his friends to be babysat and have to spend 4 hours at work with no political input. Hand out iced teas, take orders, bus tables, bring extra Olga sauce. School is out, maybe I will be too busy to wonder and obsess.
TORTURE for a political junkie.
I know the show really isn’t until late tonight, even tomorrow perhaps but were I home today I could no sooner look away from the creation one brushstroke at a time than I would miss the finished painting.
I really have always had the need to figure things out, get every bit of data I can. The pieces of what makes a situation, person or place are as interesting to me as the entire. Nothing, no one, no part of a process occurs in a vacuum.
I want to see what people in West Virginia do, in Philadelphia, in California. I want to hear their voices outside the polling places. I want to study their faces, see them brave the rains in Raleigh and New York to make their places in history. I want to understand them, hear their stories.
I want to be there.
Final numbers don’t stand alone. Words need music and music needs rhythm. Every single piece is important.
There are bubbles racing under my skin like only 1970’s speed, Christmas eve as a tot, or total arousement can get you. Total rush.
I am a junkie, man….. I’m telling you.
The Dark Lord Days of Sauron Cheney and his minions are almost over.
I want to see the people drop the ring into the fires that forged it, the fires of their ignorance that fueled their previous votes turned into bright white light of an awakened mind. I want to see their relief, their pride at again making the age of men a thing to behold.
McCain says he will contest every State until he Gollums the Ring.
I want the eleven archers and hard working dwarves to to number so many today that he crawls back into the primordial slime that corrupted him from a Man into a sniveling wretch whining for his precious.
Yes, I am metaphoring myself to death, but truly I could go on and on.
I want to see shining young faces and wrinkled worn brows glow with the fact America could elect a man who looks just like them.
I will probably be up all night tonight.
Wish me Godspeed and us all Victory.
Look to the East, I will be back.