At least it was over swiftly. A slap to us all at once. Now instead of being worn out by a thousand small hopes dashed, we’ve felt it all together. At the very same moment in time we reckoned with our choice. Whatever that means to you.

I met up with friends. I coped. I thrashed on my steering wheel in traffic. I made passive aggressive comments to a driver who cut me off on my walk. I said I was f*cking angry and insulted by the results. I called him out as a fascist.

I also lived my life. I let myself love the sunlight and the wind. I enjoyed my friends’ company. I listened to music. I cared for my children. I did not let it break me. We will recover from the blow.

Its been a rough week if I’m honest. My very first thought: of course. Why did I let myself for a moment think otherwise? I should have been preparing for this moment, the one when everyone showed up exactly as they are. I had hope for my countrymen. I thought they would see him like I did, but maybe that was unfair. Do any of us see anything the same way anymore?

I worked with a lot of people on Tuesday. I am not great with people. I mean, I am great with people—I am kind and bubbly and helpful. So f*cking helpful. But I, myself, am not great. While I am with others I am obsessively making patterns of the activities around me. I noticed every time someone struggled to follow the directions I gave and on exactly which word I lost them. The next time I give them, I adjust my phrasing slightly to make things more clear. I am aiming for the perfect score. I truly wanted to help every voter feel more comfortable with the system they were participating in. I wanted them to feel empowered by their vote. I let each one of them know that if they had just walked into the correct polling place, they could get right to the ballot box and skip this whole process with me. I wanted them to know how it works. By the end of the night my instruction speech was finely-tuned and I could list 10-15 meaningful changes I would make to the systematic voting process itself. I was also incredibly overstimulated. Operating that way is exhausting. I was distraught over the inefficiency and seeming void of civic education. Mentally, I was at a fever pitch.

My therapist suggested I rethink volunteering for the next election in the same way, and I can certainly understand where he is coming from. I countered with sticker duty. Maybe I could handle being the one who hands out stickers. Did you see the contest they ran in Michigan? See, my issue is, I want to support the democratic process but not any specific candidate. I believe we, as citizens, have the right and responsibility to decide for ourselves. I don’t feel good about asserting my opinion onto others, no matter how small an influence I might have over them. I’ll help organizations that aim to reduce polarization or increase voter education and turnout, but I get a personal ick around more direct campaigning.

Politics should be boring as f*ck. If everything is functioning as it should, it would feel like filing your taxes—a little daunting if you’ve put it off, but mostly mind-numbingly boring. As voters, we should be comparing the nuance between policies using one of those charts that compare internet service plans. The deluxe package comes with a built-in VPN service but it’ll cost us a little more each month. Alternatively we could forego the package deal and shop for a VPN separately. That’s the level of nuance our democratic system is set up for. The two-ringed circus as it stands is an impossible choice. We should not have to chose between xenophobia and genocide every four years. This year I voted against a well-qualified candidate simply because I didn’t think he’d have the strength to stand up to his own party. I made a move for more power. I’m not proud of it, but he once proclaimed he voted for a dead guy over a political opposite, so I know he supports each voter doing what they believe is best for the country. Still, I resent using my vote to play the game.

While writing my post about men a few weeks back, I listened to one of those dudes-shooting-the-shit podcasts that have become wildly popular. After stomaching their casually sexist and racist frivolity in the name of research, I found little journalistic substance in their interview with a leading candidate. In fairness, they claim to be a comedy show. It seems like it could be solid entertainment for a person who isn’t me. What I did find interesting were the ads, the bread and butter of the podcast industry. First, I was advertised tickets to come see these lovable guys at shows around the country. If I didn’t buy a ticket, they said I sucked. I disagree, but while we still have free speech in this country they can say what they want. The sponsor that alarmed me was a gambling app. If you haven’t listened to a podcast like this one, often its the hosts themselves hawking the products. These guys proudly proclaimed you could place bets on the results of the election. Won’t that be fun? You—dear listener—can finally hold stake in the outcome!

Have you ever watched a football game with someone who has the tight end on their fantasy team? They’re not interested in who wins, they’re rooting for the reverse pass. They root for their guy to win points so they can stick it via text to their college roommate who lives 3 states over. They are playing a game within the game. When I ask why they say it makes it more fun for them to watch. I hope the issue here is an obvious one. You can even place bets on the next insurrection.

I don’t blame the guys for betting on democracy like its a game. I feel disillusioned with our political system, too. My personal choice was to get involved to see if I could help reset it, not make a mockery of it for personal gain. But that contrast is part of what makes our country great, they say.

Here is what I will say to the chuckleheads on the podcast who joked that women don’t really need abortions, they just want to bitch about something being taken away from them: My fight isn’t with you. We are not fighting. I don’t give a flying f*ck why you did what you did with your platform. I am fighting against the corruptions of a system that was set up by and for someone who isn’t me. I am using my time and my vote to move us further toward an operating democracy, with liberty and function for all.

I can say I gave my best effort on Tuesday. Other than unconsciously dressing myself in head-to-toe business casual blue, I stayed entirely neutral when assisting voters. I mentally corrected my assumptions about who they might be voting for. I reminded myself that I have no idea. Instead, I projected my hope onto them. I thought this person is here because they know how important it is for them to be here. For all of us. Only in hindsight did I think they might have been there to win a bet.

There was one moment where I felt palpable tension in the room. A young woman dressed in her work scrubs came to my station to cast her very first ballot. Her boyfriend stood directly over her as she filled out the necessary paperwork and the alarm bells in my head were screaming. “Sir,” I said with the polite authority granted me by my name tag “you can have a seat on that side of the room while you wait.” “Do I have to?” he answered, with a little more aggression then was necessary. This is a gray area in the polling place—we do what we can to give each person as much privacy as possible in the public setting, but ultimately the voter gets to use their discretion. The young woman in front of me said nothing so I made a call in the moment. “You don’t have to now, but you cannot stand over her while she votes.” He left grudgingly and I worked hard to lower my suddenly elevated heart rate. Did I abuse my power? Maybe. Would I do it again? I’d make it policy.