There is too much to say about tomorrow night, so maybe I just won't. I've written this entry about 4 times now and don't have the energy to re-write it all over again. We all know how big this is. If there's anyone who doesn't know, you should call them and let them know that Hellen Keller wants her disabilities back.
It is pretty amazing to me that we (as a country, as a party, as a strange and troubled group of people) get to gather tomorrow and watch it all go down. I am so excited at what could happen; at what the implications will be if we can do it, and what that will mean for the next step. I think we're ready for it, I really do.
Assuming some of you faceless blog-readers of mine (if there are in fact any remaining) have been feeling this same alternating sense of dread and elation all day, all week, all month, or even all year (a feeling that I envision is somewhat akin to what menopause must feel like...), let me tell you my solution to this pre-election anxiety: reading Groucho Marx letters. Ok,so maybe it's not a solution per se, but it's at least 15 minutes out of my day spent away from polls and red or blue colored articles. I guess I find solace in people who take very little seriously and know unwaveringly that we will continue on, that we are intrepid, and that laughter is a cure for most things, with the possible exception of menopause.
Que viva el azul.