why life is hard

After a weekend of complete and utter despair, I have dragged myself out of the doom and gloom to reach a feeling of content. You think about all the suffering people, those with no job who can't house and feed their families and those with terminal diseases, faced with their imminent death...and those who are just miserable (I may fall into this category every now an again). Of course after I think of all the pain in the world, I ask myself, "Isn't it all relative?" I know people have it worse than I do....but I still feel bad...I still feel really bad.

So, Friday was THE PITS. I was ready to drive my kids to Nebraska and drop them off, then quit my job and live as a recluse in the woods behind my building. On the way home, the bus stopped on the P St bridge...and sat...and sat. Eventually, I decided the bus driver can't hold us hostage and I got off, almost failing over the railing. I walked to 21st and P St...I think...and the police wouldn't let anyone walk any further. Then the police on the motorcycles started to come, then the black cars, then the black cars with flags, then there he was, Barack. He was looking out the back seat window, deep in thought. People around me start hooting and hollering...high fiving each other. It was interesting how happy he made them feel while for me (me who loves the entire Obama family) felt tired and sad at seeing him. I struggle with thinking of the President as metaphor for hope (hope for everyone) and thinking of him as regular though exceptional man and thinking of him as a political leader. Seeing him made him more 'regular man' and I think my sadness was based in self-pity because I know very few exceptional men...or women.

I have seen him before and he touched my shoulder. I didn't speak to him because I was too busy making sure I got really good pictures. I didn't.