Hello.
So I noticed something about the blog as I was reading through the archives. I seem to have done a one eighty on Obama. Puzzled, I decided to take it up with my unconscious self.
“Self” I said hesitantly “What’s up with that ?”
Self replies with irritation, face immersed in a coffee cup, ” Wha-?”
“That” I repeat pointing at an old post that invites Obama into the Hiawatha Forest to play hide and seek at midnight.
“What are you on about?” Self growls, plucking its face from the coffee cup. Clearly, it hasn’t been paying any amount of attention. Now that’s just annoying. You’d think that ones unconscious self would pay some sort of attention to what is going on in the outside world. Even if it is just so it can clobber you with it during REM sleep.
“This turn about on Obama? “I say pointing to recent blog posts “What gives? I thought we hated him?”
“Hate is an elusive theory.” Self replies, reaching for it’s cigarettes. I don”t smoke but apparently, Self does.
“Have you been reading Camus again?”
“Define Camus.” Self sneers through a rising cloud of smoke. I cough.
“Very funny. Seriously, what is up with this Obama thing.We really need to have a unified position. People will get confused. They’ll say I’m a waffler. And nothing is worse than being lumped in with John McCain.”
“That is more horrifying that either us needs to contemplate at this point in our relationship.”
Sigh. Obviously Self will not be giving straight answers today. Self never gives straight answers. Which is why my life is what it is. It’s like being trapped in a body with an aging, black beret wearing, macrobiotic eating, hippie. Quite horrible really. Especially when I consider how much I’ve always secretly wanted to be a a pro-life Republican. Self refuses on moral grounds. And occasionally too many coffee grounds.
I try one more time.
“Self” I yell ” I need a plausible explanation I can take to the people. Now!” I augment my position with a stern finger pointing.
Self regards me with that smug beatnik look I have always hated, yawns and says “Well, he’s not Bush.”
So now I know. I am, like many Social Democrats, willing to take anyone as the President as long as their last name doesn’t rhyme with mush, push, or shush. And their Vice President doesn’t rhyme with Heaney.
Sad really, I thought my reasoning my would be deeper and more complex, but alas, no.
Dogwoman