Yesterday, Andrew returned home from work to find me sitting on the couch, simultaneously flipping between MSNBC and CNN and frantically surfing a variety of websites to see if any headlines had changed.
Last night, I dreamed about Sarah Palin. I was at a Palin rally; Palin was standing on top of what looked like a tall water tower, tossing armfuls of things down to the crowd--candy, foam footballs. I caught one, and tossed to Andrew, who was sitting not far from me. I looked around at the screaming crowd and began to weep in fear and despair. In front of me, a man turned around. He was Russian; he, too, was crying. He sat down next to me and gave me a strangely shaped silver teapot, then asked me to write down what he was saying: he would return to stay with me for one month. His name was Celian. I was, understandably, confused and alarmed.
I can't bring myself to think about this election--but I can't stop thinking about it. I can't be hopeful--but I can't let myself consider any alternative. I know I'm not alone in this. And there's nothing to do other than just take a few deep breaths and wait it out.