I Will Not Take These Things For Granted

I’ve been bogged down with a variety of work-related projects that, while interesting and enjoyable, are sucking up my time like a giant McDonald’s straw, leaving me drained and exhausted, unsure of whether to sleep, cry or stick a fork between my eyes in an effort to get me a decent night’s sleep in a hospital. These projects conveniently coincide with a series of (actually really fun and engaging) corporate meetings that inhale 3-4 hours in the middle of the day, and the combination makes me lean wholeheartedly towards the fork-in-eye option.

I voted today, as I hope all of you did, no matter what actually happened vs. what you wanted to happen, because even though the whole process feels skewed and pointless at times, it’s one of those things about living here, about being alive, that moves me. Every single election year, I get excited at the ritual of traveling to my polling place, waiting in line, voting and finally – FINALLY! – getting my cute little sticker with some sort of uplifting message full of rhetoric about whatever it is I’ve done to stand up for freedom. And yet, I always get tears in my eyes when I walk out the door. It’s so stupid and cheesy and contrived, but really, I am more than a little bit geeked about the democratic process, I can’t help it. And you should know that I’m still wearing my sticker.

Today, however, I went to a new polling place (a giant Catholic church), and when the time I spent anxiously waiting in line was up, I was not led into a room full of voting machines and happy retirees in blue and red aprons, but instead, realized that I was in the wrong building, and was waiting in line for some sort of very serious Catholic mass. I didn’t realize my error until I (and thank God, another gentleman behind me) was face to face with a solemn priest, his hand thrust out in greeting, a concerned look on his face. And of course, I ran away after simply blurting out, “I’m voting!” And left the gentleman behind me to explain whatever foolishness I’d left in my wake. But HONESTLY, would a sign have killed them? A sign that says, “This is mass. Voting is down the hall?”

I consider myself an extremely informed voter. I think it is my responsiblity to do a lot of research and vote for the candidate that makes the most sense for me, and is in line with my belief system. I even research the hell out of the referendums and amendment votes, along with any other lesser elections they seem to throw in at the end of the ballot (“Third-degree circuit court judge and lead fisherman, district fifty bajillion!”). I was thrown off, however, by the fact that I was expected to vote for three (THREE!) open seats for the some sort of obscure board that I didn’t realize existed, and I’d done absolutely no research into whatsoever. And with the new-fangled machines, I could not figure out how to abstain, so there went three votes with eenie meanie minie moe, which is sad. And the board was pest-related, so if and when I get malignant malaria or the plague, I will have no one to blame but myself.

Oh my God, that’s all I’ve got. This week may be the least exciting in blog history, because again, I am a pile of fried zucchini drowning in ranch dressing, and by Thursday (when all of this madness is over. OVER FOR THE LOVE OF GOD), I fully expect to have crawled into the microwave, pressed “popcorn” and waited for my whole body to blow up into a million kernels. Because if it’s not obvious by now, I am bone-tired and mildly catatonic and can’t even write a decent post, much less any sort of analogy (zucchini? popcorn? Seriously?)

(Although, dude, there is a carrot. I totally get to see Lawyerish this weekend. And meet her mom. And her husband. Be jealous, for it’s all I’ve got going for me right now.)

*Toad the Wet Sprocket. Love Toad.

13 comments November 7th, 2006