What happens if I’m not? What if I’m, idk, verklempt instead? Giddy? Solicitous? Contemptuous? Aroused?
Bemused?
Skeptical?
if I wanted clickbait, I’d...well, shit.
Nonetheless. -plonk-
Being generous and assuming the precipitating article/headline writer meant well, still: We’re all clear that at best this is superstition, right?
If, big if, the very worst happens here, freaking out in advance accomplishes absolutely nothing.
You can’t vote harder than you already are.
Doing turnout work? Cool! You know what else is motivating? Hope! Excitement! Anger, sure, yep, mhm.
With terror, at best, you’re doing the same shit you were already doing, only now chugging antacid on the hour and compulsively checking the polls and headline as though they were incredibly accurate and compelling entrails.
At worst, terror can be paralyzing.
You know what’s not fun? Literally going crazy. Specifically, severe depression-spurred psychosis. 0/10, do not recommend.
I’m not saying that being terminally online doomscrolling in hope and fear before the 2016 election caused any of that; it’d been coming on a long while.
It also didn’t exactly -help-, either. Of course, neither did the following four years.
But you know: getting a head start on the awful feelings that WILL happen if the unthinkable happens again?
I can’t say it’s a voluntary choice to not be doing so this time, exactly. Idk, the right meds, in general: do recommend. Mostly, I do honestly believe she’s going to crush him like a very small insect. I’m happy to repeat my own obsessive mantra of evidence why if anyone needs to see it again, but you can read much of it in many other diaries on here (as, indeed, did I).
But when the little niggling thought, that superstition, yep, comes into the back of my brain—mostly every time I see another cynical attempt at clickbait or an earnest bedwetter who just read it—I think:
At the very least, I’d rather enjoy my good mental health while I can, these last two weeks.
You can do you, of course.
Just thought I’d share.
