Then We Came To The End

One more day, and it will all be over.

A few nights ago, I dreamed that Barack Obama was campaigning in my hometown of Valdosta, Ga. It was raining, and he was standing under a black umbrella, microphone in hand, addressing a sparse crowd in the old Kmart parking lot. He looked tired and thinner than usual, plus a touch pissed off. I felt his pain, except for the "thinner" part.

We voted two Sundays ago, and I am just done with the presidential campaign. I want to wake up on Nov. 5, check CNN to make sure America didn't f*%# it up (again), and then go on with my life. Until then, I don't want to see another campaign ad, analyze a new set of poll results or listen to the latest interview with Joe Undecided. I couldn't even bring myself to watch Obama's infomercial. (It's not personal, Barack, but you already got my support and my vote. I had other stuff to do.)

Of course, I don't intend completely tune out Election Day. It's too historic and there are too many things at stake. I'm just so afraid that it'll turn out to be a nail-biter, and I'll have that helpless, slightly sick feeling I know so well from the last two election cycles.

On the bright side, one of my favorite illustrators, Alex Ross, has designed one of the best Obama t-shirts ever. I hope I'll have a reason to wear it soon.

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