The Probable, the Possible or the Impossible

Nov. 6

I slept on and off in front of the TV last night, like counting red and blue shapes on the screen was part of my responsibility to democracy. When I finally went to bed, the unknown, or the hope in it, was still possible. It was still possible at 3:10 am when I woke up with my younger daughter, who was crying with a wet pull-up and a cough and an urgent need to rearrange her stuffies. Headlines skimmed sleepily suggested it was still possible at 5:07 am when my older daughter crawled into our bed. Less probable, but not impossible yet. When I woke back up an hour later, it was done. Latch clicked, lock turned. When I glanced again, I couldn’t even find the door that I was sure was once ajar.