In the '60's, when I was in my '40's, we plaintively asked, "Where have all the flowers gone?" Now I am in my '90's. and we are well into the next century, I plaintively ask, "Where has all my enthusiasm gone"?" I am too lethargic by half, and, once a political wonk, I now, hardly, my dears, give a damn.
I miss getting excited, I miss getting involved, I miss being passioante about something-- about anything. (Even at 91, I miss being passionate about passion, itself.) And all of this, at long last, is what aging is.
The election, tomorrow, would have had me worked up into a fine lather. I definitely have my preferences, but not enough to stay up into the wee hours of the morning. I certainly prefer Strickland to Kasich; I prefer Fisher to DeWine; it may be close ( the Governor, anyhow), but I am not going to want to escape to Canada or Outer Mongolia even if my candidates lose. Even when Ohio State loses.
Maybe it is alright to smother my enthusiasm; maybe, finlly, at my age, I have a little perspective on life.
I liked the other me better; but this is the me I've got.