When the donkey wins

I was in fierce mood saturday morning. I woke up to election day certain that Labor would lose and that Tony Abbott would be the next Prime Minister. I picked up the newspaper and the front page had the same news emblazoned across it. I felt disgruntled and out of step, and for the moment unwilling to accept this state of affairs.

It was a lovely sunny morning. There was that sense in the air of things changing. I left home and walked towards the shopping centre in my shirt sleeves, feeling a little shopworn, and also raffishly alluring. I felt like I stalked the streets, the aggro in me clear to see. I neared the closest polling booth expecting to see people everywhere, but instead found a few forlorn party members handing out how to vote cards to voters arriving in dribs and drabs. I walked by fighting the impulse to yell at the top of my voice, fark orff!

It was a day I had to get through, an outcome that I just had to endure. I had thought earlier that booze was a solution, then corrected myself, booze and sex. All this energy, all this masculine discontent had me feeling horny. I imagined, a bottle of wine or two, a pretty girl, my bed, dead to the rest of the world. And in fact as I approached the polling booth I had visions of finding a sassy type in a GetUp t-shirt with perky breasts I could lead back home with me. Perhaps she could tell me the pros and cons of either side as I unclipped her bra…

Predictably none of that happened. I turned the corner feeling odd. The sun still shone, but the light seemed different. There was a sense of unreality. It was like a memory being re-lived rather than real life itself. Bubbling over still with frustrated desire I went into the nearest coffee and sat in the sunshine by myself. I looked about me, at the people conversing quietly, at a dog, at the waitress efficiently taking orders. Instead of sex I had poached eggs on toast.

I had voted the day before so returned home without stopping by the polling booth, though I eyed off the middle-aged woman handing out how to vote cards for the Libs. I wondered at the mentality. I just couldn’t understand it.

At home I felt at a loss. I had all this steam, and nowhere to blow it off. I killed an hour before giving in to reality and sat on the couch. Rigby jumped up to join me and together we watched a great game of finals footy.

Most elections I tell myself not to watch the election coverage, but every election I do. I’m poassionate and I’m fascinated and I can’t get away from being some sort of political animal. It was no different this time: don’t bother H, I told myself. But then the TV was on and the first results began filtering through and I sat down. I sat there for about an hour until it was pretty clear that the election was done as a contest, Labor had lost and Abbott was PM. I packed up and left.

I drove to the Cheeses were I shared a beer, a couple of bottles of red wine, and a platter of cheese while we watched another game of footy. This was a good one too – sufficient to distract me from what had happened. At the end we switched over for the last rites. There were no unexpected surprises. The ALP had lost, though perhaps it was not quite as bad as many pundits had predicted.

I got home thinking what a big fucking day. Rigby waited for me. With him I lay on the couch and watched World War Z into the early hours of the morning.

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