I finally voted.
I've known who and what I'd be voting for since our own endorsements came out, but I finally cast my ballot this weekend. I like to wait until the last minute, so I keep getting the campaign literature in my mail slot.
After all of this time, it was hard to believe I was finally filling in the little bubble next to Obama's name. I wasn't a die hard Obama fan from the beginning, opting instead to not get emotionally invested until the Democrats had a nominee. When that process dragged on foreva, and Oregon got a say, I went with Obama. I was shocked that he got the nod, and I'm still shocked that he'll probably be our president. This is only the third presidential race I've been old enough to vote in. It'll be the first time I've voted for the (apparent) winner. I don't know what it's like to own the phrase "my president."
We live close to Obama's NE Portland headquarters, and walked there when the sun broke on Saturday afternoon to turn in our ballots. A charming middle aged guy with a bellowing voice--and a megaphone--implored passersby to turn in their ballots. On the way back home, we could still hear him from four blocks away. I couldn't stop smiling.
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