Election Day 2004. I voted this morning at the local Methodist church, which holds voting for two precincts. By virtue of living in a small "orphaned" piece of my precinct, my line was non-existent. This was a bonus, since the other line had at least fifty people standing in it. The process was relatively painless, since we only had three selections to make. Now if only the election itself would go as smoothly. I'm trying not to panic, but I still remember agonizing for days over Election 2000, the recount, and the final result. My favorite bumper sticker this election year was a tie between "Somewhere in Texas a village is missing its idiot" and "Re-Defeat Bush."
Here I stand again, speaking to an empty room. My thoughts aren't worth the cyberspace they would take up if I cared to tweet or post to Facebook, but here I stand anyway. I had no idea how long it had been since my muse had forced me to write. I used to write almost daily, poetry mostly, when I was younger and believed that someone cared what I had to say. I wanted to be e.e. cummings or T.S. Eliot or anyone who seemed to be so comfortable in his own skin to pour out his emotions onto a blank page. It took me a few years to realize that the writers who filled my pantheon of literary deities were not that comfortable after all, but wrote because not writing was more painful than the spilling of emotion. So I think I will take up my keyboard once more, wade out into the battle, and write.
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