My period-tracking app tells me that Aunt Flo is coming in two days, and that I might be experiencing PMS.
If I’m feeling anxious or tense, it says, I should try boosting my mood with “exercise, my favorite foods, or shopping!”
So, obviously, I threw it into the ocean and am now sitting here grimly sharpening my knives.
I don’t really want to talk about 2016, because I’ve been thinking about it for two years, but here on the morning of the midterm election, I am plenty anxious and tense. There is no champagne waiting in the fridge, no matter what happens. There will be no watch parties, just in case.
Instead, I sit here with my snoozing babe in my arms, teeth clenched as I watch the sun come up through the front windows. Think of a slightly plumper Furiosa, and you’ll have the right idea.
I cannot wait to go vote. I did everything in my power to help save this godforsaken country, some 40 percent of which is okay with a white supremacist misogynist tearing babies from their mothers’ arms. I hope we’ll save ourselves despite them.
But no matter what, I won’t rest. I used to be someone who didn’t really care that much about politics. I voted in most elections, the same way I recycled — because it’s the right thing to do. But I didn’t pay much attention beyond that.
These past two years, I’ve paid attention. I’ve read the papers and watched the news and called my reps and marched and donated and sent postcards to get out the vote. And I’m not going to stop, even if we win it all. I’m not going to stop if we lose.
I’m awake now, motherfucker. I’m awake and I cannot wait to go vote.