In the wee hours Wednesday morning

On the night of the election, I went to bed after midnight. The election results were still trickling in, but their awful conclusion was already clear. The voters had made their choice. The voters had made their devastating, hurtful choice.

I was able to clear my mind enough to fall asleep. As I slept, I had a dream.

I was driving alone at night, traveling on a highway. There were no other vehicles anywhere, no other distractions, but I didn't see the pile of ice and snow in the middle of the road until I was almost upon it, too late to avoid hitting it straight on.

The icy obstacle wasn't of sufficient mass to stop my car, but it caused me to veer off the road, over the guard rail, off the bridge, free falling into the dark.

Even though I was alone in the car, I whispered to my wife, hoping she could somehow hear my last words:

I'm sorry.

And I prepared to accept fatal impact.

Then I woke up. That doomed, desperate feeling remains.