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I am watching MSNBC until Obama’s “infomercial” comes on in four minutes. Since I voted last week, I thought I would feel less anxious about this election. If I lived in, say, Austin or Seattle or even northern Ohio as opposed to east-central Ohio, I would probably have found it easier to shake off the feeling of doom that woke me up in the middle of the night since I voted.
This evening, I feel better. Maybe MSNBC is “in the tank” with Obama, but that’s all right. Something about the tone and topics and results of the interviews has made me feel a little better.
Six days. I can make it six days.
I have things I want to do to grow myself as a writer, and I can’t wait until Tuesday has come and gone to get started. So I will watch Barack Obama’s show, and then I will get back to work.
yeah.
I have forgotten how to pray. When I was a girl, I prayed all the time. I prayed the liturgy on Sundays in church, rolled the old-fashioned words around my mouth like lemon drops. I prayed in school when it was my turn to answer a question in German class. I prayed for sanity through grad school, prayed for love, prayed in ’91 that we wouldn’t go to war. I prayed for my mother when she was dying, prayed for my baby when she was growing in my belly, prayed for heart when my husband thought he might want to leave us.
When we moved here, when my father got sick and then better, when my husband explained himself, when I began to fail as wife, when my father got sick again but didn’t get better and died, when Bush was elected in 2000, when the planes hit the towers, when we declared war, when my husband left for good, when I lost my soul in self-loathing, when Bush was reelected, when the war dragged on and on and on and on, I couldn’t pray anything but, “Dear God…. Dear Whoever you are…. Do you listen? If you do, do you care? Why should you? Who are you? Are you there? Dear…”
I feel such an urge to pray right now, but when I pray, I find it impossible to discern what the answer means in silence. I am too stupid and unfocused to be the kind of intelligent Christian I’d want to be (a Thomas Merton sort of Christian, not a Jerry Falwell sort of Christian), too hopeful to be an atheist. Jinx, cursed, irreverent rumbling thoughts. “If I pray for this to happen, I’m certain the other thing will happen, so I’d just better not pray at all.”
So, I try hard not to pray because I believe in the power of thought, and what is prayer but pleading thought?
I can hardly stand to wait another week. My lovely, human distraction goes to her lovely father’s this week. We will take him out for his birthday on Thursday, National Novel Writing Month starts on Saturday. The weather is grim, bodes badly for winter. The early cold has already leached moisture from my finger pads and knuckles.
I will pray the “old” prayers, the confession, the prayer of thanksgiving, the prayer of St. Francis. I will pray for nothing but clarity, and maybe peace. And comfort. I’ll pray for comfort.
1. My daughter and I are home from her school. She chats with a friend about boys. The friend just asked her an incomprehensible question:
Are you going to be the kind of girlfriend who has a fight with your boyfriend because you think he should be good enough for the things you are good enough for?
2. The kids who attended the McCain rally here yesterday were talking about how they got to touch McCain.
3. I spent today volunteering in the school library training the kids who have signed up to be library aides. I also read a chapter of a book to one class, helped another kid finish his homework (he didn’t really need help. He really just needed someone to be with him. I suspect his parents work all the time and can’t sit there with him while he works), cleaned up the messy bookshelves.
4. When I came back to the school after taking a lunch break, my kid was in the cafetorium finishing up lunch. She saw me pass by, ran to me calling, “Mommy!” Gave me a huge hug. My 13 year old. In public. In front of her friends.
5. I missed Obama’s “closing argument,” dammit. I hear he returned to his beautiful “soaring oratory.” Waiting for the speech to appear on YouTube.
6. My Girl was just watching a German version of American Idol. I was translating what everyone was saying for her. Glad I haven’t forgotten everything I learned.
7. Good golly, I need to back off from politics and write a fucking poem! I need to find a subject, let the images take me, spin and dance through the words. I need to write a poem of more than 32 lines, maybe one approaching 60. If it ends up being a political poem, I need to pretend while I write it that it is something altogether different.
8. Child goes to her father’s tomorrow until Sunday.
9. I think I have destroyed my neck by the way I sit with spine curved down, like a vulture, as I type. Hurts like hell all the time.
10. This once a week with the kids will revive me, I’m certain of it. Being with the kids will remind me of who I am.
Just got back from taking my kid and a friend to the mall where they will see W. with a gaggle of friends after they wander a bit. I have until about 10 p.m. to a) be productive, or b) sleep. I noticed while I was driving that although I was chilled because it’s chilly and rainy outside, my skin is very hot. This could be caused by 1) menopause or 2) a low-grade fever, both could explain the overwhelming fatigue that took me this afternoon.
I am also emotionally worn out from this election. Do NOT tell me to back off and look away. I can’t and shouldn’t and don’t want to. It’s important to me. I just wish time weren’t moving so slowly toward Election Day. I do feel better knowing that I’ve already cast my vote and won’t have to freak out because lines are too long or machines are broken or whatever. I’m done, and that gives me comfort.
Conversations with my daughter and drives through town, however, worry me. In this town, there are so many more McCain-Palin signs than Obama-Biden signs. McCain is king. That’s really OK, you know, if you want to vote for McCain. Of course it’s OK. It’s a choice just like deciding whether to marry or divorce or have chemo or move to a new city or leave your half-husband any money in your will.
But, damn! If the children around here are emulating their parents, then I’m so much in the minority here that I might as well go underground. It’s ugly. Ugly, ugly, ugly.
I wonder if a girl needs to be more of a social animal to enjoy blogs, Twitter, Digg. An offline loner isn’t any less likely to be a loner online, though it’s easier to step away when there is no physical demand of eye contact or voice or pat on the back.
I have nothing to sell except perhaps my process. But I don’t want to “sell” my process, perhaps just share it, have witnesses? Oh, it doesn’t really matter.
This is not a blog, I’ve come to realize. I am not a blogger. I am a diarist who sometimes writes out in the open the way portrait painters set themselves up in the middle of the mall during Christmas shopping season.
I can’t find the substance in Twitter, for example. We seem to share random posts that others write, videos, moments of our days that have nothing to do with who we are.
What do I mean or want when I say “substance?” I mean God, poetry, art. I mean blood and dirt and pain. I mean sex and loss, violence, peace, love.
*
I am a liberal politically. What does this mean? I suppose it means I tend to want the government to help the people of this country on their journey toward being the best that they can be?
It horrifies me when I read columns, articles, books, opinion pieces, when I hear senators or commentators equate being liberal with hating America. I don’t understand why it isn’t OK for us to question the policies and actions of the government that is supposed to be designed to serve us. Our country is not perfect, is not without guilt, if you want to call it sin, then our country is not without sin. We have perpetuated atrocities not just on the peoples of other nations but also on our own citizens.
A thinking person would be aware of this, right? That we are not perfect? That we need to improve, right?
right?
In the course of researching online what it means to be a liberal, I found John F. Kennedy’s 1960 acceptance speech of the New York Liberal Party nomination, just a few months before he was elected President.
And we think Obama is eloquent? I don’t know who wrote Kennedy’s speeches, but whoever it was was genius.
September 14, 1960
What do our opponents mean when they apply to us the label “Liberal?” If by “Liberal” they mean, as they want people to believe, someone who is soft in his policies abroad, who is against local government, and who is unconcerned with the taxpayer’s dollar, then the record of this party and its members demonstrate that we are not that kind of “Liberal.” But if by a “Liberal” they mean someone who looks ahead and not behind, someone who welcomes new ideas without rigid reactions, someone who cares about the welfare of the people — their health, their housing, their schools, their jobs, their civil rights, and their civil liberties — someone who believes we can break through the stalemate and suspicions that grip us in our policies abroad, if that is what they mean by a “Liberal,” then I’m proud to say I’m a “Liberal.”
I could quote the whole thing, because it’s all so beautiful, but anyone interested can follow the link above.
I wish so much that the men and women who make up our government would hear this:
“Government is an art and a precious obligation; and when it has a job to do, I believe it should do it. And this requires not only great ends but that we propose concrete means of achieving them.”
I wonder if there is any way for us to be what this speech suggests that we can be. Is it too late? Was it ever possible?
Oh, who knows? Not I.
*
on procrastination. I don’t mean to. I’m just slow to move. Sheets toss in dryer. I have yet to clean up my self just in case I have to go out later. I’ve only written a little creatively this late morning. My child should come back to me tomorrow afternoon unless she and her father decide that they are too lazy to move, and that’s all right, though it kills me to live another night with her there.
all I am is her mother, which is sad since she needs less of my time (though not less of me).
time to get to it, to live.
I move deliberately into the day, slow start, won’t rush, plan without freaking out.
I’ve read the polls, some opinions on who won the debate. It might be my imagination, but even though most of what I’ve read (I will not watch television commentators today; their voices grate) indicates many people believe that McCain lost the debate, people, even Obama supporters, seem almost disappointed, as if they hoped he’d “bring it” and allow a real debate on the issues. They seem … sad. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I just don’t feel like being nasty. I’m certainly not the angry voter he seems to think is out there lurking, waiting to cast my vote when I am feeling the most enraged.
Well, what do I know? I can only bring my very subjective view to what I see, hear, read.
My plan is to work with pen and paper today rather than on the computer. It’s a lovely, gray day here, perfect for working on a creepy “supernatural” novel (though the magic seems to be turning more symbolic?). Whatever. Today, I will have fun and will remember that I like writing. I’m lucky to have today to do this thing that I love, all day.
… It’s 11:47 p.m. eastern, and I am chatting with a lovely, slow typing friend on the west coast whose wife is my best friend. The last debate is done. Obama was calm and specific. McCain was angry and redundant, but God love him, he’ll have gained some independent, angry voters. I think Obama is tired of this debate business, of defending himself. I think he was a bit impatient to get on with it. I even got the feeling for a few seconds there that he checked out of the debate and was thinking of playing with his children or having sex with his wife. He probably could have given more, but I don’t think he had to.
The next 20 or so days? Well, I think I’ll just hide out and write. Today was frustrating on some levels, but not on others. It’s lonely here without my kid, but I’ll take advantage of the “freedom” and solitude and get some work done.
I’m still not certain Obama will win and McCain will lose. It’s time for me to shut myself down, say good night to my friend (and through him his lovely wife). I’m glad I didn’t live blog this sucker. I decided to hang out on Twitter, instead. There were plenty of live bloggers. We are all so … biased. It’s hard to view things objectively when you’ve already made up your mind. I still sometimes want to view things as a reporter, and I’m ashamed of my bias. But I’m simply not a reporter, any more. I’m just a voter.
I have just washed my face. All of my dishes are clean; the cat is fed; water chills. The child’s M&Ms may be in danger of disappearing during the debate. We’ll see. Maybe I’ll be more in the mood for those 100 calorie packs of teeny Lorna Doones. No, I think this calls for chocolate.
I was going to try to finish rewriting a chapter by 8:50, but I’m too distracted. Later, later.
I don’t even know why I’m bothering to watch since it’s too late for me to change my mind. I just can’t seem to look away. It’s news, and I’m a news freak. It’s history in the making, and I love history.
A wet strand of hair hangs across my face from my recent ablutions. It’s annoying the crap out of me.
And I need to find my glasses.
I suppose I could call this post, “On being an over-50 slacker who really ought to find a ‘real’ job, but will blow every chance due to a gift for the fine art of unconscious procrastination.”
1. found two birthday gifts for husband and asked about “seasonal” employment at the music store. The music seller knows me as a fairly regular customer with eclectic taste and a fair knowledge of artists. But you can’t just walk into a store and come out with a job application at most chains these days. The barriers to applying are daunting. Just went to the store’s website, which is the only way to apply, and discovered that the application doesn’t support my browser (I could download I.E.) OR my “platform.” Great. They are prejudiced against Mac Users. hahahahaha! Ahem. Still, the birthday shopping for girl’s dad is nearly done. will save the other ideas for Christmas.
2. went to the Waldens to pick up an application for “seasonal” work. Oh dear. THAT was fucking demoralizing. The new(ish) manager is about 12, and he’s the only bookseller in the store who doesn’t know me from nearly a decade and a half of book shopping. He has already hired all of his seasonal employees because, he said, “The season has already started.” He almost managed to hold back his sneer when he told me this. He will only be hiring for the damned calendar kiosk in the center of the mall. I took the application, but even if I ended up somehow finding work in his store rather than at the kiosk, I don’t think it would be a happy meeting of minds. His contempt was pretty clear. It bummed me out totally. Not so much that there is probably no work for me. I wasn’t really expecting an opening. It was his attitude toward me. I’m a good customer, and I know books. It’s probably really his loss more than mine, in some ways. I should have waited until one of the booksellers who’s been selling me books since 1995 was on the schedule to request an application, if only to ward off the sense that I am superfluous. They, at least, would have been friendly and happy that I’m interested in joining the “team.” Pretty unprofessional of me to wander in that way. I should have called,. But, dang. There was really just something about that kid, as if he were angry with me even for inquiring. Or maybe he was just uncomfortable.I should have called before I showed up looking for an application. Now the little manager knows my face, and I will feel him sneering every time I come into his store even if he isn’t sneering. This bit is just way too long. I should delete it, but oh well. With luck, no one will read, anyway.
3. At the grocery store, I put back the jalapeño stuffed olives I like to eat with Wheat Thins for a snack sometimes. They were $5.69 a jar, just too much.
4. Someone left the gift of a coupon for $1.25 off a bag of Seattles Best Coffee in the coffee section. That was sweet. I have to start doing that, leaving coupons for things I don’t need for other people to use.
5. Filled up my gas tank with that $2.89 gas (but used my Kroger card, so it was less). Told the guy in the booth that I liked his snaky sword tattoo.
6. Bought the ingredients I didn’t have on hand to make marinara. Maybe I’ll start a batch even though it takes four hours to cook down. I could use some tomatoey goodness. Or maybe I’ll wait until tomorrow.
7. I will rethink my place in my world – freelancer? substitute teacher? sometime poetry instructor to kids? not-wife? mother? slacker? failing novelist?
8. It will be OK.
9. I bought a bottle of cheap shiraz and popcorn as treats for tonight’s debate. I don’t know if I’ll watch or not. And if I watch, I doubt I’ll pop the cork because something tells me this debate will make me want to drink the whole bottle.
10. Husband thinks that I should be doing something with my passion for politics and journalist’s nature, thinks that I should put my opinions out there somehow in a … productive way that earns money. I think I am too ignorant, too stupid, to make it work. But I might give it a shot, anyway.
11. I bought a murder mystery I didn’t need from the little booger at the bookstore. I feel like returning it.
12. I have about four hours to write before the debate. I think I’ll get to it.
My husband and I just voted early.
In the tank with Obama, both of us. B. says that his older, staunchly Republican brother’s negative approach to politics and L’s loathing of all things liberal/Democrat has influenced B.’s voting his entire life. B. almost always votes the opposite way from his brother. On other issues, they do support each other. But not this one. (My bro-in-law thinks of me as a charming little socialist – hee)
I’m going to see if a local business I like is hiring part-time, seasonal clerks. It would be nice to have a sort of job.
I’ve only read two election stories today, and I’ve let both of them drip out of my mind completely. I will save up my political focus for tonight’s debate unless I decide to hammer my way through scenes 18 (nearly done) and 19, instead.
