This election is addictive. I must have refreshed the homepage ten times in the last hour, and it’s only seventeen minutes past three. The news channel is permanently on in the house. We discussed staying up all night to live the results as they arrived on air, but I’m so glad we didn’t. We’d now be running over 48 hours sleep deprived and probably acting like Noel Gallagher circa 1998 on a drugs binge, proclaiming ourselves the best family in the world ever and trying to run for election ourselves.
Seriously, is this the most exciting US election or what? Obama’s one was fantastic, but this is even more gripping. The narrow margins here are thrilling. And also, because the choice of Trump versus Anyone Else Who Is Not Evil, it is horrifying. It feels like the world is at stake, not just the US.
The emotional roller coaster now includes intense frustration at the dirt being flung at the election officials and their processes. The US is renowned as having one of the least corrupt electoral systems in the world. It feels like a belligerent loon has been let loose in class; like we’re in school and some eejit tries to create a vicious rumour about someone else by simply shouting crazy stories and then mumbling “there’s no smoke without fire”. Except happily in my school, everyone was sensible enough to give that person a look of disdain and incredulity and they were discredited from then on as a malicious fool. It’s such a pity that a large portion of the US didn’t go to my school. They’d have learned to decipher the nuts from the nice.
Anywho, honestly, in the last few weeks, I started to feel a lot of ennui about Trump. Myself and my husband go through cycles. Sometimes all the mountain of lies and silliness becomes too much and I find I have to switch off. It’s like when you watch a soap opera too much and you have to give yourself a break, watch the news and get back to reality. Except in this instance, I gave myself a break by watching Netflix and ignoring reality.
And here we are back again in current events, crossing fingers and toes, trying not to jinx anything, giving each other meaningful glances and saying with trepidation, “Trump could still get in. He could still do it.” Biting lips and fingernails with every result called. Hoping and hoping so much that we don’t even say it.
We gave up booze at the start of September (the 12th to be precise), in an experiment to see if we would be more productive if we didn’t drink. We only wine at the weekend but we were both feeling exhausted and wondered if we cut back, would we be more energised? [The answer is no by the way, we still sit on the sofa a lot. Apparently it’s a character flaw and nothing to do with poor innocent vino.] Anywho, our plan is to live like Spartans until early December. But after the last few days, and imagining the next, I’m not sure we’ll make it… it just feels like a wee shmahawn of whiskey will be dancing around us before the week is out. I will blame Trump for that.