I meant to close the polls in the chill night, bitter cold.

It recently occurred to me that this is the last election I will be able to stand by and watch.

Sure, I have my favourites, and my opinions, and my rather pragmatic ideas about what is probably best.

But throughout all of the silliness, I really just stand there and watch. I don't have a GUY. You know, the guy you're behind all the way. The one you defend even when he screws up. The one with opponents you desperately try to tear down. I don't have one of those, and I think it's because I can't vote.

This is probably the last election I won't be able to vote in. My citizenship will likely have come through by the time the next election rolls around. I'll have a guy next time.

Len Downie of The Washington Post used to say that he does not vote because reporters need to be unbiased. I always thought that was a bit extreme: wasn't it possible to vote and still do your job without bias? And wasn't it possible to NOT vote and still be biased? Now, on the eve of being able to vote, I understand what he means.

The other day, I watched a protest and considered attending a rally. (The rally folks had free food, but in the end it was too cold to make it worth standing outside for an hour.) I did these things rather dispassionately, really just as an observer. I could have reported on them without any bias. Someone in my office told me that someone else had seen the same protest and was very excited about it. (I had been, to put it mildly, underwhelmed; not at the protesters' politics, but at their inability to create an interesting narrative.)

He clearly has a guy. I kind of wish I had a guy. It would make the Facebook arguments so much more fun. I'd have someone to pull for. But if I did, I wouldn't have the same experience of watching the campaign from the sidelines.

It's all going to be different next time.

All new.

I'm doing my best to avoid using words and phrases that are likely to be picked up in a Google search. This is an interesting experiment. I have a few regular series on my other blog, and I am oh-so-tempted to transfer them over here, but clearly that won't work. I start posts and then delete them.

Yes, this is all new to me. Fumbling my way in the dark, hoping not to trip. Or, God forbid, having to set this blog to private. I read a few private blogs, and I always feel like logging in is a hassle.

Oh, bloody hell...

I thought I had finished mourning. I got through it and moved on to "acceptance" years ago. That was how I got through the day without completely losing my mind every time I saw something like this on the pages of my local newspaper.

Or so I thought.

I was wrong.

I know it's only Twitter, but this actually causes me physical pain. I think my brow may be permanently furrowed.

You're right; I pretend over there.

I pretend all the time. I think we all do. I won't claim to be 100% real here, either, but I at least feel a bit freer. Maybe that won't last. Who knows.

I have always blogged as a slightly more sarcastic version of myself, almost in character at times. This isn't to say that I'm insincere (except in my professed adoration for lifeguards) but that I am generally not quite as much of a bombastic dogmatist as I appear to be online when I'm not staring over my shoulder. People who meet me IRL often tell me that I am quieter than they expected.

I have felt very quiet online lately.