Just like pulling off a bandage, you have to do it quickly, without thinking. Otherwise, the pain will be too great and you'll just wind up leaving it on until it comes off in the shower. What am I talking about? Voting.
I was at my polling place at 6:35am. Number 6. I waddled into the booth, pushed a few buttons and viola! Off to work.
Incidentally, do you think that something is fishy when you sign that paper receipt with a number on it and they hang it on the back of the voting machine? I do. I think they can trace number 6 to the votes I cast and paste together my voting record. I'm paranoid, but am I paranoid enough?
It's a lot like trying to lose weight, the voting. We vote, thinking that we're doing something good, but we don't really know. It's like eating low-fat food and exercising to try to lose weight. You aren't sure if what you are doing is going to do any good, but you do it anyway.
The ads that ran for the better part of three months were non-stop screaming accusations and made me think that whomever I voted for would wind up being a colossal boob who I wouldn't want house-sitting my cat. I'm not sure that's what Thomas Jefferson wanted me to think about on Election Day, and I'm pretty sure he didn't run ads telling people that John Adams was not looking out for their best interests. I'm pretty sure he had grand ideas about improving the country, unlike the boobs on the ballot today.
It's 8:01pm, the polls are closed and the first results are coming in. With 1-percent of the vote counted, the winner is ... a guy who, in 4 years will be accused of being a boob.
And on it goes.