
As my limited gambling history demonstrates, my best guesses are nowhere close to reliable. But on the eve of what promises to be an historic presidential election, I have what I can only describe as a sense of foreboding. Things could get ugly, as if the campaign wasn’t ugly enough.
If the election is as close as it appears, we may not know the outcome anytime soon, but that doesn’t prevent a little personal nostalgia. I recall a sense of foreboding the day before an unprecedented hurricane crashed through my community, and on that occasion I sent a mass email to let everyone know our plans in case things went badly. Apples and oranges, I know, but a similar feeling resurfaces today, as silly as that sounds.
I anticipate significant acts of violence should Donald Trump “not” be elected president again. I hope that such violence does not occur, but, you know, history. And I anticipate a very different but even greater set of dire consequences if he wins. That’s because, among other things, many of his former military commanders have spoken in no uncertain terms.
So again, pardon the PTSD, but I feel this strange desire to board up some windows and prepare for dangerous winds and waves.
While I have leaned Left for many years now, my concern regards Donald Trump the candidate and not the Political Right. I used to say that the winner of the presidential election didn’t matter nearly as much as we are expected to believe because winners tended to “govern toward the middle” in our clunky two-party system, but I don’t say that this time.
And my thoughts are further complicated because I understand a portion of the Trump appeal to those who for decades of their lives felt the sting of disdain from various types of “elite.” I don’t want to dismiss painful emotions and experiences.
But that we have come to the absurdity of yet another Donald Trump candidacy mostly makes me sad. As just one dramatic example, while Sean “Diddy” Combs understandably sits in prison as evidence of sexual assault mounts against him, Donald Trump expects to be the next president of the United States despite, well, everything. And if I had to bet a nickel, I’d bet that he wins.
I attended a panel discussion recently on the impending election, and one of the panelists said that the outcome of the election will say more about the American people than about the campaigns themselves. That seems about right, and I think that may do more to describe my sense of foreboding than anything else.
Vote bravely and wisely, everyone, and then batten down the hatches.

“I have what I can only describe as a sense of foreboding. Things could get ugly, as if the campaign wasn’t ugly enough.“
Can I get an Amen?
It’s about an hour before the polls begin to close & I’m settled in my office to watch the coverage through the night. I also have that sense of foreboding, no matter who wins.
This time around I’ve pretty much been in the “A pox on both your houses” camp, but I still have to watch. Even though it’s good “theater” watching the talking heads ramp up the drama as the totals come in, I’m afraid it’s going to be more like watching a train wreck – you know it’s going to be ugly but you can’t look away.
I’m beginning to understand how Thomas Jefferson felt when, over 200 years ago in a different context, he wrote;
Indeed I tremble for my country when reflect that God is just: that his justice cannot sleep for ever.
Thus endth my humble opinion.
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