I’m plagued with ennui, I’ll admit it. Three weeks since the election and I still can’t focus on any single thing. In the past week, I’ve distracted myself with genealogy research, a friending frenzy on Facebook, and started reading yet another history book (in addition to The Shaping of America: A Geographical Perspective on 500 Years of History, Vol. 1, Atlantic America, 1492-1800 that I’ve been picking at for the past three months). Now I’m reading Night Comes to the Cumberlands by Harry Caudill, something I was supposed to read 25+ years ago in a sociology class but never quite got around to (raising the question once again, how did I manage to graduate?). I don’t know why I didn’t read it—it’s actually kind of interesting.
In the past three weeks I’ve cleaned the kitchen stove and cupboards, the washer and dryer, the floors, the bathroom. Helped rake semi-frozen, wet leaves. Counted the dead deer on my way to work each morning (four, and one appears to be headless). Celebrated Obama’s election a couple of times, most recently with beer. Removed the dry leaves, one at a time, off the bittersweet branches that are in two vases. Planted some mums. Felt slightly crafty but not enough to launch into a full-fledged project, such as sewing curtains.
I’ve not paid as much attention to the news. I’m fairly certain I don’t need to, that the same storylines will be there tomorrow: Will Congress bail out the auto industry? Is Obama’s transition team getting all sloppy with leaks? Is Bush the lamiest of lame ducks?
I am untethered, no longer bound to any campaign except my own. (Which I keep forgetting about. I’m supposed to run for office in the Pigspittle Dems party and because someone else is also vying for the position, I have to actually campaign. I think I have a mental block.)
I never ever in a million years would have thought that I would say this but I’m going to: I miss canvassing. Yes, I miss walking up to strangers’ doors and intruding on their Saturday afternoons with pesky questions about their voting preference. I miss it. I do. I miss the incomprehensible Google maps. I miss discovering new roads and getting just a little lost. I miss the unpredictable public and their quirky welcome mats and cobweb-masked houses.
So I get an email from David Plouffe today asking me if I’d host a “Change is Coming” house party. Do I dive in again? What kind of change could we bring to Pigspittle? It’s tempting. Very tempting. Seriously. Especially if it involves canvassing.