Uh, sorry. I guess I’m fucked then, because I simply cannot look away from the slow-motion train wreck taking place right in front of me, and in spite of what you say (which is true as far as it goes) my inner engineer informs me that the far more likely outcome is that I will indeed live until Nov 3 at least. I’ll be manning the polls as with the primary. My life in the present moment includes the contents of my (overactive, I suppose) mind, which projects into possible futures — exactly as evolution over the countless millennia of deep time prepared me to do. It is the heritage of billions of years. I should fight it?

No woman ever murdered her husband while he was washing the dishes.

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