||the Third of November, 2004|
|There was a good fragment of a Margaret Atwood short story, somewhere,
about bad news being a black, straggly-winged monster that rises
up and hunts you down; that you can attempt to delay it until after your
breakfast or your morning coffee, but should ultimately surrender to it
in your own careful time, as it's never going to go away.|
So four more years, or until the end of the world, then, whichever is soonest.