Why is it that when my horoscope (which I’ve become unexpectedly obsessed with lately) is finally accurate, it’s about me getting sick? Susan Miller told me to “stay strong near the full moon of November 5, when a cold could drain you a bit,” and right on cue, I’ve been feeling ominously sneezy and hot-flashed ever since Sunday.
Per the advice of the sooth-stars, I have indeed been trying to stay strong, fizzing down Airbornes ploppers and cutting back on my windsprints. And I was actually beginning to feel pretty much better. But then tonight I drove out to San Francisco to vote, only to discover that I’d totally forgotten that I’d remembered to register in Oakland. So the San Francisco voter volunteers at the church on 23rd at Mission (always, always a weird bunch, and chatty beyond all sense, almost as though they’d been bribed to slow down the voting process to a prohibitively excruciating pace) had me drop my ballots into a sealed envelope that they claimed was for voters who’d arrived at the wrong voting spot. They said my vote would be counted after it had been verified that I was indeed registered, but since I’m not at all convinced that there’s a late-night posse in place for that kind of background checking, I’m pretty sure my vote landed directly in the trash. After I dropped my secretly sealed placebo ballet into the abyss (now no one will ever know whether I yayed or nayed San Francisco’s bold, unexpected call to impeach the president and Cheney!), I went and ate tamale after tamale with Liz, Heidi, and Ivan. And then we may have gone for a drink at Pop’s. Way to stay strong! And now I’m home and back to feeling listless and cross-eyed. Turns out knowing the future doesn’t really change anything.