I've been waiting for over 45 minutes for a piece of paper. You might think this a little insane, but you'd have to see it in the context that I do. I've been waiting about six weeks for someone to sign this paper. And it's taken ne the better part of six months prior to that, to fullfil the conditions. So what's 45 minutes?
Of course, for people waiting six months to hear back from the INS is peanuts. And their wait pails in comparison to some of those imprisoned in Guantanimo, whose presumed guilt is as frightening as the acts which they have not been accused of committing.
As I said it is matter of perspective and the truth is, the last half of this post as been typed walking back to my truck, permit in hand.
I wanted to vote for Barack Obama in the California primary, but I didn't. I'm a "decline to state" voter and permanent absentee to boot. The result is that I didn't have that option on my ballot. I'm sure I could have gotten it had I tried hard enough, but I didn't. Still, being among mostly democrats, I've had ample opportunity to think about the question: Barack or Hillary? For me, the deciding factors aren't track record or plans. As an investor, I extend the reminder, "Past performance is no guarantee of future results," to all manner of thing, including and perhaps especially, politics. As a project manager I'm reminded of the words of Dwight D Eisenhower, "I have always found that plans are useless, but planning is indispensable." For me, especially when the choice really seems very similar, it comes down to belief. But perhaps that's the way I feel about all choices. I find myself pretty much alone on this score. Most people believe that you can reason the correct choice, if only you have enough information. But can you really have enough information?
I've found myself, over the past eight years, blaming many people: people in red states, people who didn't vote, Ralph Nader, for electing our president. Now, reflecting back, I admit that's the wrong way to think. In every choice there exists risk. Nothing is certain at that moment. I won't continue to blame people for doing what they thought was right.
Yesterday I saw that KQED's Forum was interviewing Samantha Power. She gave a speech at the Santa Clara Law School commencement ceremony, which made me a great admirer. Hearing her speak again, about foreign policy, and advising Barack Obama, gave me great hope. Personally, I think she would make a fantastic Secretary of State.
I wanted to tie this very political entry to something else that has consumed my days and night, the economy, however, it's taken longer than I expected already so perhaps that will be fodder for another day.
This past weekend, browsing around Pegasus & Pendragon Books, I noticed a single shelf of essential reads, reminding me of something I wrote, or had thought to write, about how I had always dreamt of owning large library - the kind that you might imagine in a large manor on a very English estate in some Merchant Ivory Production - and how (upon further consideration) it might be better still to have only a very small selection, books read and reread until the bindings were wrinkled and worn, the text tired of telling it's story for the umpteenth time. I assume, presuming I wrote it at all, that the library was merely a metaphor, as is my wont, whose subject I now search for. Or perhaps I've mislaid the memory, remembering I had a thought that I had never thought before. I suppose I could search through these pages, and if I did not find, search through my other correspondence, but I am too lazy for that and I prefer the ambiguity.
This is no doubt a poor way to begin, not to explain my lengthy absence. There are more than enough words, counted by the thousands one might say, easily accessible if you approach from the right side of backstage, which should give more that adequate account. It's infuriating, I know, my lateness, my lack of explanation, my general circuitous way of writing. I could be plain. I could. Consider this though, that each of these - the slight evasions and verbose digressions, the feints and retreats of text - are deliberate and directed, an acknowledgment to someone important to me. Dear reader, if you still care, I've come back.