At 7 AM, an unholy hour I usually only visit long enough to open one eye, get smooched, and tell Kevin to have a good day and not to let the bastards get him down, I got up. It’s cold, and it’s pouring. The polls opened half an hour ago.
We live in Pittsboro, a wee little town founded in 1790something, and my brain tells me that there is no chance of excruciating lines here, but I’m getting up early anyway, just in case. Plus, this way Kevin and I can vote together, so if there is any problem with my recent registration, I have somebody to back me up.
The sky is that bruised grey of early morning, the ground is wet, I am in groggy wolverine mode (inclined to doze off and snarly when poked) but goddamnit, this is the first candidate I have been genuinely excited to vote for in a dog’s age. Maybe ever. I can get up for that.
It’s cold, it’s wet, it’s too damn early, and it’s time to go make sausage.