Awhile back I dropped M. off at the airport, so he could fly, fly away to Manhattan. Then, this afternoon, the boss jumped on a foreign land bound jet. The result, for a brief flicker on the cosmic dial, I am without responsibility. No one is reliant upon me.

Is it freedom or just a little doldrum?

For me, it all boils down to not caring what’s for dinner. No commitment, no implied commitment, no conversation. I bought Triscuits, and I bought a mango, and I bought one of the conceivably most conveniency of convenience snacking:

Yup, I’m so fucking lazy and living so large, I don’t even need to slice my own cheese.

Soon, I’m going to fill out my absentee ballot to drop off at the polls tomorrow. (Here in the wacky Left Coast, you can get yourself hooked up absentee style (and in fact the chick at the voter registration booth last year recommended it), and then hand it in like a book report into the little voting machine.

Cheese, crackers, fruit, and politics. This is my America. This is my freedom.