Ok then, that’s it. Off with the TV. Ban the radio. Only a glance at the New York Times is permitted, headlines and one editorial. No more than ten minutes maximum allowed for the Huffington Post. Read fast, get the meaning from a word here, another there. Keep those eyes moving at breakneck speed.
Giuliani Records Robocalls for McCain.
Voters Purged from Rolls in Ohio.
Bill O’Reilly on the View
I back out of the site with the willingness of an addict on the way to rehab.
I admit it. I am addicted to the news. Actually, not all news. Just news of this damn never-ending election. It has kept me up at nights, greeted me at dawn. I have been at times despairing, elated, fearful, pissed off, hopeful and hyper, sometimes all of these at once. This all American circus we call an election has been all I could think about and talk about for almost a year. I have obsessed over the nasty accusation, the pundit’s slick spin, the bald-faced lie, the weak rebuttal. With a constant knot in my gut, I have not been enjoying Zen-like days. I know I am not alone.
Months ago, I determined that an intervention was in order – an intervention on myself, if you will. This occurred to me after I had spent the entire morning, four and a half hours of it, surfing the endless pathways of Daily Kos, CNN, Politico, Salon, The New York Times etc. plus the latest national and state polls. I had traveled the equivalent of who knows how many virtual miles before actually getting down to work, you know, the kind that puts food on the table. This behavior called for the cold turkey cure, just like I had done years ago with the Marlboros.
The phase of my election news blackout lasted for a little over a month. And yes, it was quite like nicotine, although the pain of withdrawal subsided more quickly and didn’t require sucking on a straw. The urge to “tune in” was replaced this time by a blissful well-being that can only be had through ignorance. Rather wonderful. I really didn’t miss worrying about John McCain’s concealment of vital health information.
Now I have moved on to another phase. I am back into the news but I am monitoring my intake just so there is no accidental overdosing. I have figured out how to stay calm, collected and somewhat joyful while in the eye of the storm, no matter what happens in this election.
I’m hanging on to the wisdom of the ancient masters. I’m opting for “the perfection of the universe” theory rather than “shit happens,” all the while telling myself that what passes for “reality” is nothing but illusion. I repeat at various intervals throughout the day the ever-soothing mantra, “in it but not of it,” and for good measure I add the empowering “I am that I am.” To end my meditations on a cheery, life affirming note that would make Doris Day proud, I belt out a rousing, heart-felt rendition of “Que Sera, Sera.” Big time.
Sixties Chick 