Eight years ago, on election night, I was wrapped in a million blankets on a mattress on my living room floor. The high winds whistled through the windows in an eerie melody that somehow didn’t frighten me. The fireplace to my right thawed my heart of any anxiety regarding the storm outside. Mom was still awake, watching the TV intently. Sleep washed over me as the chatter of the news people faded farther and farther away. 
     Four years ago, on election night, I was sitting atop my bed comforter, hunched over algebra homework. My earbuds were blasting saturated pop, most likely Ariana Grande’s latest album. The hair on my head was about fried off from staring at meaningless symbols for an hour. Since when did they add letters into math? My phone was exploding with anticipatory political buzz, and as tempting as it was, I had to stay focused on equations. Finally, I finished every problem. I tried my hardest to keep my eyes pried open and glued onto my livestream, but math had used all my mental battery. At twelve years old, it was way past my bedtime.  
     A month and a half from now, on election night, I will be drinking all the coffee the world has to offer. Plugging in each device, I’ll sit in my desk chair to stay wide awake. My computer will overheat from the 8,653 tabs of commentary websites and tracking sources. I will develop ten extra eyeballs so I can watch each social media feed individually. Sleep will not overtake my body until the next day, due to the unhealthy amount of caffeine in my blood.  
     Four years from now, on election night, I will vote.