Like everyone else, today, the fourth of November, 2020, I wake up sore.  Election Day, I had to go down to the old Georgetown Park Mall, to the Department of Motor Vehicles to convert my old DC Driver's License to the new standard of homeland security, the Real ID.  Something I'd been dreading for months.  I ride my heavy yellow mountain bike down to Foxhall, then down the hill and the curved path that goes under the canal in a damp tunnel.  Canal towpath or Capital Crescent paved bike trail, I chose the former.   Park my bike right there, lock her up, and into the building and down to the basement I go.  I have an appointment. At Noon, made months ago.  There's a line.  I get in the line.  I've got my paperwork, birth certificate of some ancient order, some recent bills, a W2 or 1099 to state my social security number...  I'm anxious to be in Georgetown, on Election Day.  A lot of it, shop windows, are boarded up, completely, as a protection should there come rioting and looting in the night.  

I go through the first line, and then to the clerk who prints out a service number, and I wait there and my number is called, over to window 10.  I say hello, how are you, politely, and produce my documents.  "The bill has to be in an envelope.  I can't take it without an envelope."  Okay.  But I've brought forth other papers, for back-up and it looks like I'm clear, until she tells me that I owe for a ticket, $120 plus the late fee.  Speeding, Suitland Parkway, 2010.  I've never even been to Suitland Parkway.  She prints off a list, so that I can pay.  A couple of parking tickets, from the old street, paid, okay, but...

She enters my credit card manually, entering my current data.  Eventually, we get through that, and it's time to sit down in the chair for my official photo.  You want to take that over again?  Your collar was doing different things.  I take off my blue cycling jacket, a snug fitting Spanish zip up thing with pockets in the back.  Who knows what my hair looks like.

Okay, I make out of there, gratefully, and out on the street the sun is out.  Okay.  Across to the sunny side of the street.  Working men are putting up window protection, and the sidewalk, busier than I would have expected.  The boss pays me in cash now, so I deposit the two one hundred dollar bills into the PNC ATM machine at the back, north side, of the old domed Riggs Bank.  Okay.  I can get out of here now.  The bum at the corner has gone away, so I cross Wisconsin to go fetch my bicycle.  It's nice to be in Georgetown, actually.  Clyde's Restaurant is boarded snugly from head to toe.  Back behind the old carriage house of Dean & DeLuca, a sleek coffee shop, seating at outdoor tables above the old canal.  I try calling mom.  

This time I'll take the path back, avoiding the mud puddles on the canal tow path.  I dilly-dally by the river, it is a nice day, there are people out, young college age couples, handsome, a light breeze over the river.  I wish there was a drinking fountain, my water bottle running low.  My niece had called out of the blue just as I was getting ready, rattled as I was, and it's hard to remember everything.  I go through the maze laid out in the park by the river, trying to be in a meditation, after all the anxiousness.  I better get going, I figure.  Maybe get some exercise in later.  I finally get through to mom, speaking with her as I walk my bicycle along.

I mount my bike again, Kryptonite U-Lock over the handlebars, pedaling away smoothly from the construction noise, etc., rolling along underneath the girder bottom of the Whitehurst Freeway.  Out by the boat houses, I get distracted.  Looking to the left for a possible drinking fountain, I find suddenly the closed part of the gate under the old canal bridge right in front of me, too late to swerve, so I fall forward and hit the deck, oooooph.   Ouch.  Landing on my palms.  I'm embarrassed.  I stand up.  Got to pay attention these days, I mumble, as a lady with a small dog comes by. 

Sorely, my hands now, feeling dumb for making such a mistake, rarely I crash my bicycle,   I pedal home.  A lot of people are out on the trail, joggers, bikers, which would on a normal day inspire me to go for a ride, but for the difficulties of putting on all my cycling gear, and by the time I get up the little hill up Foxhall, where I dismount, by the time I get back to the different climate of MacArthur Boulevard, a cloud cover to the west has come to the blue skies of Georgetown.

I lock the bike up outside, come in and wash my hands.

An agonizing night, waiting for clear signs of a Biden Victory...  I go to bed, and then Mom is calling, causing my iPhone to buzz silently next to me on my bed.  Then she calls again.  And once more, and I pick up.  "I'm cold and lonely," she tells me.  Well, Mary will be coming.  I tell her about how the election still hangs in the air.  She gets it.  Oh, wow.  Really...  Oh.  Yeah.  Well, I can tell you don't want to talk to me.  I'll call you later.  I'm just getting up.

I get up and have last night's brewed tea, along with the last Advil on the little bottle.  I look at my phone and open up Facebook to see what the news is.  It could be a horror show.  Mercury left its retrograde cycle yesterday, Election Day, at 12:50 PM yesterday.  Maybe today will be better.

I write for a bit.  Just to keep the mind moving.  I haven't written at all lately.  I call mom back, and she's doing better, and sane again, and not too needy.  The election is still not clear, and after writing, I take a little nap.  There's been a lot to swallow.  For, the more I think about it, a long time, ever since Trump won, somehow.

It struck one as if he'd been, along with his people, through a long forty days in a desert.   A miserable heat. A lack of sustenance and the water.  Temptations.  A voice telling you turn around, to turn back, to give in.

It seemed ordained almost that we would all have to go through such a time, something we had to go through in order to be better again.