tears on my pillow...and everywhere else

Where were you when Kennedy was shot? Me? I was a drug-addicted, brilliant con man sperm, and across the country, a super feminist artist egg. The twain would not meet for 14 years, though I will note that even as some random cellular glop, I was studying the Kennedys, and have never stopped. I always felt remiss that I was nowhere to be found on that devastating historical day.

Little did I know I'd be front and center for our generation's question of the century:

Where were you when you saw/heard the words, 'CNN'S PROJECTED WINNER, PRESIDENT, BARACK OBAMA?'

As 30 of you know, I crumpled to a heap on the floor and cried. For five days. I still can't articulate the profundity of that moment. I was certain the Republicans were going to rig it, so when Obama cleaned up that map, Pennsylvania, Ohio, and then BAM! he took the election in a landslide victory, my legs just gave out on me. My heart burst open, my brain turned to static, and all I could do was cry and cry. And cry. In my heart, I am fierce seeker of justice, something we see precious little of these days, no matter where we look. Obama's victory was so totally just it knocked the wind out of me. Literally.


Then there was the little matter of my subsequent nervous breakdown this week, during which I alternately didn't know who Barack Obama was, and licked his picture on the front page of the newspaper. I have no excuse. I'm nuts. I'm just now crawling out of the mental quagmire, so pardon my audacity in thinking I could compose a blog post worth reading. I just Obama had Obama to Obama say Obama something.