My husband wants to discuss the voting manual. He has already voted by mail, but I'm doing it the oldfashioned way: trudging up the hill to the next street to stand in line at a garage. I don't really need him to talk, but I'll give him his say anyway. It can't hurt to listen. Many, many strangers have been calling to persuade me to vote their way, or at least give money. I don't pick up. I'll give some money later, but I refuse to be all twisted in knots right now. I want to enjoy my summer. I'm used to voting my own way, and don't require any nudges. I respect that these people who call are trying to help their candidates, and I appreciate their effort, but I also know if I give one dime over the phone I will be besieged with calls for months if not years. I deserve not to be swarmed.
The cacaphony is not condusive to measured thinking. The panic is almost contagious. I try to remain calm in an ocean of turbulence, and see the cycles as they come and go. I'm a drop in the ocean, but I insist my drop be, well, dropped. I will vote, not with a rush of hope or euphoria, but with dogged determination. The way I always vote.
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