Today is an historic day. No matter what happens tonight, I feel certain that big changes are afoot; either America will elect its first black president, or I'll be planning my move to Sweden (once I get out of jail after the riots).
My day started out around midnight last night, when the cops woke me up and chased me out of bed to let them into my backyard to search for some fugitives that were apparently making their way through my neighborhood (no idea what they were fugitives of, or what they had done to bring seven cops to my buzzer at midnight). I spent fifteen minutes standing in my bathrobe outside, waiting for them to say the coast was clear (and hearing things like, "Ma'am, please stay back, we don't want you at risk," and "do you have your cell phone on you? you should keep it on you at all times" and similar freak-a-girl-out shit)...and then I went back to bed and spent a few hours jumping at every noise in the apartment. Awesome!
There was about an hour's wait at my polling place this morning, during which time I bounced around to my mp3 player to stay awake. I was the 93rd vote counted in my district. I like to think that's auspicious, since it was '93 when Bill Clinton was inaugurated. Or something.
I voted for Obama, of course, as well as a handful of Dems and a bunch of Greens. I picked and chose a few judges to confirm or not. I considered taking a picture of my ballot, to commemmorate the first time in my life I was able to vote for a non-white presidential candidate...but I thought it better to get my shit done and out of there sooner, so I could let the next voter get on with it. Priorities.
My office is not too far from Grant Park, and I have a ticket to the big rally. I spent more money than I wanted to getting a decent digital camera so I could take craploads of pictures of the event to share with all my loved ones who aren't local or can't make it.
I'm scared to let myself get too hopeful, but when even Karl Rove predicts an Obama landslide, it's hard not to let that little nervous bubble of joy pop up every now and then. I think I am going to be balling like a fucking baby before the night is through.
I'll be posting about the big rally tomorrow. Hopefully my photography skills will do the night's festivities justice.
Loud-mouthed liberal feminist. Anarchist knitter. Tequila-drinking artsy-smartsy fat chick. Bluesy folk-rock singer-songwriter. Rebel with too many causes. Quirky eclectic pagan poet. Paradoxical intuitive smartass. Sarcastic brainiac insomniac. You know, for starters.