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disaster, nausea, the presidential debate

The U.S. presidential debate has been on for fifteen minutes, and I’m feeling sick. Three of us had dinner and gathered in front of the TV together, but now my friend Richard is watching alone in the living room; I’m hiding in the kitchen, and Bruce has gone upstairs. For some reason, it seems that the Romney robot has learned his lessons and is speaking well, whereas Obama seems wooden and uses too much math and looks down too much. He’s just not a sleazy fighter, he’s a thinker; this is not his forum. He looks and sounds tired. Romney is smiling sweetly as if he’s a kind person. Did the Dems not prepare their guy?

So I’m in here, trying not to listen. It’s excruciating. Please God make it go away. I can’t bear to hear it; it might mean the end of the world. I’m going to go upstairs too.

No, Richard kindly offered to go watch the debate at home, just down the street, and I instantly changed to a TVO documentary on young American kids trying to farm. Exhausting, but not like watching that debacle. Richard assured me that debates don’t change that much, though they do make it a tighter race.

How can Obama not tromp all over that hypocrite? Brucie and I are now in the living room with our computers and the TV off, he checking Andrew Sullivan and I the same guy and others on Twitter periodically – the consensus, that Obama has gone down in flames. Tragedy. Horror. In this very room, Richard and I and others watched, weeping with joy and drinking champagne, as Obama won the presidency. I can’t bear to think about it.

Life rolls along. As you can see, my grandson was here yesterday for a visit; I wish he were here now, to remind me of what really matters. Friend Bruce is visiting for a week. All four classes up and running now, with the U of T one starting yesterday. Fall is marching in, red leaves tumbling, frost on its way – the potted outdoor plants will need to come in – and all the summer clothes have been put away. We’re closing in, closing off, shutting down the outside to animate the inside. There will be reading.

I feel sick sick sick sick sick sick sick.

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About Beth

I began keeping a journal at the age of nine. Nearly fifty years later, I started this online journal, sharing reflections, reviews, updates, and the occasional secret.

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