I need some therapy.
So, beginning Wednesday morning, after my coffee and Fiber One flakes, I am going to go out and scrape the old flaking paint off the barn. Then I'm going to break out the belt-sander (Hmmmm, More Power!) and the paint brushes. That might get me to Friday. Assuming I can get a day without rain, I can likely get the barn painted, and fix the barn door that rotted out from ice damage over the winter.
If I am lucky, I can fix the mower deck, pump up the air in the tires on the drop-spreader, and weld a new hitch on it so I can pull the roller behind the drop-spreader in tandem (save fuel by doing two things at once) and maybe, just maybe, on Sunday I can cut the grass, fertilize, and roll (all at once, no less!) around the house and get some of the things that I really needed to do last month done.
Such is the nature of campaigns. I am just thankful that I don't have "baby chicks and ducklings" or a "sick" horse (@joetrippi) to complicate matters. (Although, the idea of some chickens has crossed my mind - just so my grand kids could have some fun ...)
When it's over, it's over. We get to go back to what we do. Fortunately, when the Primary is over, I'm pretty much done. I feel for the rest of my friends who have to go through this for the next six months. Political campaigns have become a bloodsport. Too bad. Our Republic suffers from the deterioration of the process that the Founders hammered out that miserably hot summer in Philadelphia.
We have a media that has abdicated it's responsibility as the Fourth Estate to the almighty "ad dollar" and editorial bias. We have the Internet, the 21st Century "Whisper Campaign". But the most depressing thing to me is that we have about 60% of the population that will not take the few hours necessary to cast an informed vote. In a time where we can access information at an unprecedented level; where we can discern the truth beyond what is spoon-fed to us, we just don't seem to care. I hope I am wrong. I hope that we do really want to look beyond the pablum of the pandering.
It strikes me as odd that "teen angel" porn sites get more hits in fifteen minutes than any candidate for public office gets in a month. What does that say about the process?
Well, after Tuesday, it doesn't make any difference to me. I'll be wearing my John Deere hat. I will be scraping paint off my barn. I'll be doing manly-man things with welders and hand tools. I'll be having a cathartic experience.
And I'll be reminding myself that June 8th is only a month away. Bring on the baby chicks.
Wow! That was better than a $225/hr therapist.
God Bless the John Deere Company.