08 November, 2006

Civic Doody

...safe from a rolling sea/ there's always been a quiet place to harbor you and me....

And so begins my indefinite self-imposed media blackout. How long can I go without knowing the election results?

Because I don't particularly care what they are, first off; because I don't think they'll ultimately make any difference for a second; because I'm just that unpleasant this week is a third.

I've been particularly snarky, yes, thanks for asking. Why?

Thirtyyearoldnonworkingfurnacedyingwasherdryermotherfuckingrainoverdueemis
sionsinspectioncarwesoldlastsummerabandonedwithoutchangeofpinkslipssoitsourr
esponsibilitypackforthekidsforfourdaysandbythewaymestiltsintheshopwithnodateofr
etrievaldogsalloverinmudextralongsessionofpmswhichihopetogoditisbecausebeingpr
egnantatmyagewouldtotallysuck.

Oh, and I went to the polls yesterday. Not that I believe in the democratic process anymore, because I don't. Who can know the agenda of any candidate, when all the major economic players have one of each in their pockets? And, hello, Diebold machines? I touch a screen and I trust that this company's software is recording my vote as I enter it? Without a reciept of any kind? Could someone just hand me a paper ballot and a number two pencil, please?

I was told by an election judge (hard to come by, in this burb, by the way) who has suspicion levels to rival my own, that use of the absentee ballot is permitted for those of us unwilling to give faith to these electronic machines.

Which is not to say that there won't still be fraud (was that enough negatives for you?) but those of us who give a shit and don't trust Diebold will feel assured that our vote will be counted as we cast it, assuming it isn't 'lost in the mail'.

Though of all Suspicious Agencies, the US Postal Service has been the one to foster a tiny little birthday candle sized flicker of hope in my black heart.

When I mail a card from Baltimore and in two days it's arrived in Minneapolis....well, kudos to you-does, Postal People.

As it happens, the tenor of my day was changed when a stranger extended his hand at the end of a transaction. I met his palm my own shaky hand, the one that thrummed with unrelieved tension, expecting a quick, firm squeeze and an impersonal release. Instead, he put his other hand on top of mine, enclosing me in a warm hand sandwich. "Everything will be fine," he said.

I feel oddly confident that it might, after all.


(Rock The Boat; Hues Corporation)

1 comment:

Inanna said...

Ihopeeverythingworksoutwiththatdamnwasherandcarandfurnaceandallthat!