The Party

My wife and I, the more political minded of our group of friends offered to host a small get together to watch the 2016 voting results.  By this point, following Comey’s letters to Congress, we had no certainty of the winner.  A week and some days prior we had a certainty, but by this point all we had was a hope.

We started well; hugs, drinks and joking.  Levity would dissolve across the evening as hope vanished.  The party broke up before 1AM.  The result known, everyone went home for the night.

The following day I woke up ill.  I’d been fighting a sinus infection for a week, and my body just had enough.  I had a day I could take off from work, so I used it.  I would sleep most of the day.  I woke up occasionally in my nest of covers surrounded by tissues to check the news and confirm that nothing had changed.  In my waking times I’d watch stand up comedy or bad movies on Netflix, but I didn’t think much.  I didn’t want to.

I’m a thinker.  I spend a lot of time thinking, considering, analyzing.  My job requires a lot of thought, which is why I guess I’m good at it.  I spend a good deal of time analyzing the possibilities for this past election.  I worked up several viable models… which were dashed by James Comey.  When his first letter was written my models were dashed.  His second letter did nothing to reinstate those models.  By election night I was left with but hope.

Hope means nothing to me.  Hope is only thought.  Hope is a wish without action, because no action can be taken.  I knew before that night what the result was likely to be, but I didn’t want to believe it however, so I held to a hope, a slim chance that against my reasoning things would work out.

Clearly hope had failed.

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