After letting it sit on my desk for far too long, yesterday I finally filled out and mailed off my absentee ballot, casting my vote for, among other positions, President of the United States.  It’s hard not to feel a bit frustrated, though, at the fact that there’s not the slightest chance my vote will actually count.  See, I hail from one of the reddest of the red states, and love it fiercely though I do, it’s no secret to anyone who’s known me longer than five minutes that its politics nearly always differ rather sharply from mine.

No sense complaining, however, about what I can’t change.  I suppose I should just be happy that I got to have a say in a tangled little mess known as the Twin Falls County Sheriff’s race, to weigh in on the continued judge-ship of a guy who, back in his lawyering days, successfully defended me against some trumped-up charges made by my ex-husband, and to deride and ultimately vote against a whack job who changed his name to “Pro-Life” before making a bid for a seat in the U.S. Senate.  I feel such a sense of accomplishment.