I thought I’d be writing about Saturday’s march for today’s post. I thought this week would give me time to process what I’d seen and heard enough to start shaping it into coherent thought. Turns out that was vastly optimistic.
After 36 hours the shock wore off, just in time to figure out how I could join Tuesday’s repeat march in Graham. That meant November 3rd was the perfect storm – election day stress, worry about what another march might bring, and some godawful cramps because Mother Nature has a sh*tty sense of timing. When I say women carry the weight of the damn world on their shoulders at the most inconvenient times I AM SPEAKING TRUTH.
By the time I got back home it was almost 8pm. Cue pizza, beer, and CNN’s combination of returns, predictions, and a rather annoying habit of flipping back and forth between 2020 and 2016 electoral maps. I passed out in a recliner from about 11pm-midnight then stared bleary eyed at the tv until finally calling it a night after Joe Biden said a few words. I held tightly to the advice that had been given over and over in the weeks leading up to Election Day: be patient, let it play out, wait for the final count, it’ll be okay.
I ran every single minute of the day on Wednesday only to find myself hitting the wall after dinner. I don’t have the bandwidth to think about Saturday, let alone write coherently about it. That has to wait. As does my reaction to what’s happening in our election.
But as for now? I’m off to bed. I think we’ll all be better off if I just get a little sleep under my belt. Peace out.