Thursday November 10, 2016

Patricia Thompson Collamer

A stomach knotted by shock, cinched by horror kept me from the keyboard. Until now.

Election Day 2016 came after an eternity of banter and babble media sources touted as conversations and interviews. A minor in statistics left me skeptical of all political “polls” flashed hour by hour on the television screens. Sources with .com in their names spouting political opinions give me the shivers.  Most of us endured a sustained ache in our temples for over a year and half. For me, that throb persists.

The day, the night, had finally come. A friend suggested bottles of wine. After casting my vote I picked up a pair. The TV remote control volleyed one analysis to the next. I forced myself to weed fact from the frenzy of conjecture. Months of practice kept me glued. Dinner consisted of leftover quesadillas.

Early returns disturbed any semblance of rational thought.  I left the room in search of a bucket and a brush. It was time to clean toilets. An hour later the news was no better. I walked upstairs and started to iron; place mats, napkins, a tablecloth last seen Easter Sunday. I finished up pressing one of the cat’s favorite blankets. Somehow being away from the television felt safe; as if nothing bad could happen without me in the room.