We Chase Misprinted Lies / We Face The Path Of Time

It’s ten past eleven at night. I’m sitting in my recliner with the computer in my lap watching “Good Eats” (the Spinach Salad episode). Ellie’s sleeping soundly under her favorite down blanket on the couch. In a few minutes I’ll probably make myself a Nutella-sandwich and wash it down with a big glass of cold milk.

By all accounts I should feel pretty content.

But I don’t. I’m simultaneously anxious and depressed, and no matter how much Excedrin I take, my damn head just will not stop throbbing.

Since this blog isn’t a cyber-substitute for therapy, I shan’t elaborate further, but I will say that before I tuned in to A.B. I made the idiotically tragic mistake of watching some election coverage. Answer me this: Is Sean Hannity serious? Surely his show is a parody of some sort. And what the fuck is up with Larry King? I’m not sure he’s even paying attention to his guests anymore. Rosario Dawson was on his show tonight promoting her organization, “Voto Latino,” and while she was talking Larry abruptly and inexplicably cut to a promo. I think Larry forgot he was talking to someone. And if Paul Begala’s smile gets any wider the sides of his mouth will touch his freakin’ earlobes.

Leigh and I plan on voting tomorrow. Part of me is excited to participate in a primary where Texas, and my individual vote, actually matters.

But the Gen-Xer in me just knows that the system will never allow a candidate who actually cares about the American people to get into office. My generationally imbued-cynicism keeps whispering in my ear, “Forget hope…Forget change…Expect the same…Expect the same…”

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