I Hate America.

It is approximately six thirty in the morning. I haven't slept, the last thing I ate was soy chicken nuggets at midnight, and I just drank two large chai teas over ice. The tattoo on my left leg is rubbing against my pants, which is so not pleasant. It is like forty degrees ferenheight if that, and I'm standing in a line outside that is not moving. I am shivering as I type this, all I have on is a tshirt and a rather thin hoodie. I couild really use one of those oh so fashionable thermals and a flannel right now as well as some sweat pants, but I'm in line and I'm not leaving now. My mother has abandoned me to go speak with her friends. This is so not fun. Yet here I stand of my own free will finally expressing my right to vote. After 18 years this is my day and I don't think I could be voting for a better candidate. This better be fucking worth it because right now, I would rather be in Dominica than here using my political influence for the first time.