Taking it to the White House

Today has finally arrived. Barack Obama will be sworn in as the 44th President of the United States. I, for one, will be glued to my television at noon. I woke up this morning anxious and tense, not because it is inauguration day, but because I have got so very much to do work-wise. I calmed down immediately when I remembered a few things: (1) I am a writer currently with two computers on my desk, both with Internet connections, (2) I don’t have to be in the office to actually be working, (3) I am probably better off editing and writing from home, as I am sure the office will be abuzz with the inauguration festivities; with two magazines due at the printers this week, I need to utilize as much as my concentration as I can muster.

Still, my mobile has already begun to chirp with messages about where I will be today (my red-covered sofa come noon), and the TV — booming from the other room — is giving me up-to-the-minute reports about how cold all of those folks are going to be in Washington today; I am currently sitting near a heater that makes my room feel like Equatorial Africa.

As it was on November 5, I will be ushering another day of history quietly in my flat. This occurred to me as I got a little more shut-eye this morning and I wondered why I prefer it this way. Maybe I don’t necessarily want to cry in front of others, or maybe because I know there will always be someone in the crowd who wants to bring the tone down; the proverbial jackass in the room. Or maybe it is pure selfishness: I want this moment to myself. Full stop.

My friend B. is over from London, and she is the exact opposite. Having landed on Friday night, we had a good catch up over the weekend. She then left very early yesterday morning to take the Chinatown bus to D.C., where she is staying with a family who is charging her $125 a night. I applaud her effort to be part of and to see history at all cost. I still prefer my sofa and the company of my own weeping, not because Obama is the first African-American President (though that is incredibly significant), but because he is definitely not George Bush. Again, he isn’t Moses, but he is way better than what has been.

I am ready to breathe again.