Vote early, vote often.

Two of the three (terrific) people that read my blog have asked why I haven't been writing lately.

I hate to say it, but it's because I'm overwhelmed by the election.

Yes. I am . . . undecided.

Do I realize there are scant few hours before I must walk down the corridor of truth?

I do.

Because I have nightmares about it. More than once. In the first one, which reminded me of those dreams you have in high school that you hope NEVER to repeat, I'm standing at the bottom of a long, dimly lit, mustard yellow painted, cinder block hall. The hall fades into murky, snot-green darkness, but I know what is up there. The booth. And, I know that by the time I finish this long walk, I must make a decision. I know this because multiple disembodied voices on both sides are screaming at me, "WHAT IS YOUR DECISION??!!" overlapped with, "YOU HAVE TO TAKE THE POLL!!!"

I don't remember the second dream as vividly. But, it woke me in a cold sweat. Two am, my mind already circling, slashing at the pro/con lists like a salad shooter whirring through endive, iceberg and romaine. I was up for an hour and a half, endless circling.

I broke down and posted the dilemma on my Facebook status yesterday. I feel pretty confident in saying 49% of my friends consider themselves "liberal," while another 49% believe God rides an elephant to work each day. Two percent are either left or right leaning third-party supporters. And, while my status update drew few responses on Facebook, my email's unread messages jumped ten fold in fifteen minutes.

Judging solely based on the volume of mail for the "endive" candidate, I'm now convinced he can't lose. It was nothing short of a full blown intervention. A passionate back clapping to rid my lungs of indecision's dust. I guess my romaine friends either assume I'll see the light, or they don't care. I know my iceberg friends don't care, they are voting third party and thus . . . obviously.

I have mixed reactions to it. I'm not much for crusades, or crusaders. I don't see much black and white. It's probably the gray dust I'm drinking into my pores, though, coloring my world. Is my indecision the chicken, or the egg? From what I've seen shooting political spots, most campaigns are run by kids in their early 20s, drunk on power and enthusiasm, but hardly equipped to choose or aim world impact trajectories. I want to be hyped and thrilled and carried away, and ride the wave into our new future. And, I think it is past time for us to BE in our bright, rosy, post-modern future. But, I'm not convinced this is my train.

Instead, in steady, 13 minute cycles, I'm the idiot each side vents about. Just roll me up to the booth tomorrow, and I guess we'll see which end is up at that moment.