It feels like someone took a blow-dryer to my nerves.

This time tomorrow, I will have voted for the next president of the United States. I look forward to getting that out of the way. I will have also voiced opinions regarding health care, slot machines, career criminals and whatever else someone bribed onto the ballot. Perhaps I will get one of those “Yay me, I voted!” stickers that people wear around all day, as though they gave blood or had a cavity-free checkup. Even Democratic process gets a participation ribbon these days.

Whatever is making me raw and turned inside-out is not the outcome of the election. It is — and pardon me if I go California on you here — the vibe. Everyone is tense. People are talking about how angry they are at the prospect of four more sneers. They’re rattling off every worst-case scenario and cursing Karl Rove and sweating about who’s going to win Florida and it’s giving me high blood pressure and dandruff and arachnophobic dreams. Praise Jebus I don’t live in a swing state because those Bush and Kerry TV ads would lace me into a straightjacket.

I have tried not to fear the outcome of this election. My experience reminds me that whatever I’ve feared, whatever I’ve let take root in my gut and dictate my decisions, has not been half as bad as I thought. Fear is attachment to bad things. It is obsession. It ain’t healthy and I do my damnedest to get zen on fear’s ass and just let it roll on by. Once something is out of your control, you can’t let it control you.

Like the swing state voters barraged with strangers’ advice and smear campaigns and junk mailers, I am ready for this election to be final. No more what-ifs and no more you-know-who’s-really-pulling-the-puppet-strings and no more betting on who’ll win Florida. Once it’s over, people will accept it. If America votes for four more sneers, there will be anger but the anticipation will be gone. The charged air will dissipate. Some sadness will stay there, because there will always be a looming darkness knowing that the person in the White House isn’t the one you wanted.

Somehow I survived the last four years. When stuff gets tense and people are talking about empty seats on the Supreme Court and who’s going to win Florida, I remind myself that I found someone who loves me even though I am an aggressive blanket-stealer. I started a website, developed arm muscles, and sewed the perfect A-line skirt. The Middle East is blowing up right now and I channeled my anger into creative energy. The personal is political.

I have considered skipping the election-night coverage all together. Maybe I’ll go to a restaurant where there is no TV and wear earplugs so as not to overhear who’s won Florida. I’ve been invited to an election-night party where sedatives and pizza will be served. Going straight to bed with a stack of magazines and a mixing bowl of guaca-molly is another option. Maybe not the healthiest route, but neither is blowing out an ulcer listening to bobble heads babble about the electoral college and who’s won Florida.