For a while, I managed to hold it together. There was pie to eat and wine to drink and a couch to sink gratefully into. There were friends to laugh with and sigh with, dishes to clean up, and an 8am meeting on my calendar to shake my fist at. There were distractions galore.
Around midnight Tuesday night, when my friends trickled out of the apartment, yawning, and I was alone again, I stretched out on the couch for the long wait. I remember how I felt in 2008 watching Obama’s acceptance speech, and I wanted that feeling again.
The TV was a whirl of confetti and silly hats, of fumbling reporters exhausted beyond belief, searching for more words, more facts, more spin to fill the time. I checked on each of the races I’d been counting on, the eviction of Illinois’ Joe Walsh, the legitimate destruction of Missouri’s Todd Akin, the ascension of Massachusetts’ Elizabeth Warren. I zoomed in on Maryland, Washington, Maine, and Minnesota, checking on the ballot initiatives that would represent a gut check on our country’s feelings on marriage equality. Could it really be this good? It took the check mark on Tammy Baldwin’s name, the nation’s first openly gay Senator, before I really started to cry.