Weep the Vote

Election days make me tingle. There. I said it. They make me tingle not in a sexual way but in a way that is electric. The excitement, the promise of change, the unknown that will be known before the end of the day, this is what drives that tingle.

I am not a political person. I believe what I believe. I support whom I support.

I will not attempt to sway you from your candidate of choice, nor will I wear my choice on my sleeve. If you are close to me, very close, you may know whom I am leaning toward voting for, but sometimes my decision changes in the last moments.

Election day is seductive. I complain about the coverage of the results rolling in, yet I cannot go to bed before the winner is determined.

Even the process of going to vote is charged with emotion for me. In the past, I have found myself behind the drape connecting the arrows to the candidates I choose with tears in my eyes. It is akin to me watching my children on the carousel. I am so happy, so filled with joy that my emotions overcome me.

Today, I will go to the fire station that is my polling place and cast my votes for the men and/or women that I choose. I will take my son and one of my daughters with me. The baby is too young to know the momentousness of the day, the significance of the lines that I am drawing. My son probably is too, but he will ask me what we are doing there, why I am going out of our way to this strange place to duck behind a curtain and color.

I will tell him through teary eyes that I am trying to make a change.