Preparing for the Worst

I am, by nature, a dour, unpleasant, and anxiety-riddled man. Those who think otherwise simply aren't privy to the thoughts that are really coursing through my mind. To me, the glass isn't half-full, or half-empty. It's a lethal weapon, one slipped grasp away from slicing open a major artery and sending me to death's bed.

When I drive, I try to keep my elbows away from the steering wheel, so that if an airbag goes off, I don't impale my skull with a stray ulna at rocket-velocity.

When I watch a movie, I like to sit on the aisle, in case the ceiling unexpectedly crashes down. I don't want any women or small children blocking my route to safety.

Skiing? Forget it. Hurtling down a treachorous ice-covered incline on two devices that, by design, have no traction whatsoever is not my idea of a good time. I'll be sipping a hot toddy in front of the fireplace, caressing my intact limbs, thank you.

Then comes the matter of electing a president. For months now, the election has been far enough off that it's been something of a fantasy. Thinking about the outcome has been pretty much like thinking about what I want to be when I grow up. A fun, idle pastime.

But, just like I grew up and had to actually become something (in theory), the election is here and I have to prepare for the consequences. I have been afraid to say it, but here I go: Bush might win.

[Spiral Stairs takes break to splash cold water on face and disinfect typing fingers.]

It's game seven. Fourth quarter. Third period (in hockey). Tenth frame. Eighteenth hole. Eleventh-thousandth inning (or whatever the cricket term is). Kerry is losing, 6 to 5 (baseball); 24 to 21 (football); 3 to 2 (hockey); by ten pins (bowling); by 2 strokes (golf); by four hundred shillings (cricket).

He needs a hit. Or a turnover. Or a puck to the eye of Bush's goalkeeper. Or some really, really good pin action. Or Tiger Woods to take over his tee shots. Or to whack that cricket ball into Bush's shins.

The pressure is too much for a worrywart like me. Until November 2, I'll be keeping my arms away from the steering wheel, avoiding ski slopes, and researching Canadian immigration regulations.