Election Day
Six years ago today I was serving as a poll worker in Harris County, in a neighborhood southwest of the Galleria. It was my second time poll clerking, alongside my poll judge friend Maricarmen, but this time was weird because we were still in the depths of the covid pandemic and so social distancing was imperative, even on Election Day.
Someday I will write about my experiences as a poll clerk, about what its like to watch the sausage get made, because I think it’s a really cool experience and I want to encourage other people to do it.
But not today. Today, I’m sitting in my front room in London, six hours ahead of Houston. I got my absentee ballot in the mail this afternoon — nothing like last minute — filled it out and rushed to the post office to send it off, with a feeling of immense relief. (As long as it was postdated by today and arrives by Nov. 9, I’ll be okay.)
In 2016, when I was living in Amsterdam, I put a bottle of bubbles in the fridge in the event of a Clinton victory—not because I loved Clinton, but because I thought I might finally see a female president elected. I stayed up until three o’clock in the morning, hoping the next state that was to report would flip the map. At some point I finished the wine.
I will not make that mistake again. Tonight I will go to bed before the polls close. On the one hand I am grateful for the time zone distance — six hours. On the other hand, I have some anxiety about what I might wake up to tomorrow morning. But at this point, my vote is cast, I’ve done my part, and I’ll go to sleep with Texas in my heart.