My mind is made up. I know who I am voting for. While I cannot be certain what happens behind the curtains there will be an unprecedented four votes for the same candidate from this house, and eight more from our adult kids and their spice. 

This is the first year that Benjamin will exercise that liberty. Our daughter is flying in from Chicago to help him register for the primaries, and to educate him on politics. He is already up to speed on the names of all past presidents, and an array of facts about them. Like which ones had beards, who was unmarried, and who was in office when the Titanic sank. You know, important stuff.

There is a constant supply of propaganda streaming towards me, though thankfully less of it wastes paper than in years past.  I mentally toss the ones that slam my chosen candidate, because I am not interested. I have made my decision.

The other day I was annoyed at John for reasons too trite to give the credibility of space here. But triviality was insufficient to cancel the debates between my ears.

"He did too much of this, and not enough of that." The fear mongering besmirched my mind like graffiti.  

But then I remembered. I chose John. He is mine, and I am his. There is no value in bashing him on paper, in pixels or in the precious few years we have in which to pursue life.

Because I already made my decision.