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About eight days ago, I was sitting at a cafe in Cobán, Guatemala, when the reality set in.
My absentee ballot for the midterm elections had not come. Something in the system had gotten screwed up. I called the North Carolina voting office and they confirmed: my registration had gotten lost.
“You can show up in North Carolina on election day,” the woman on the line told me, “or you can not vote.”
Nearly 3,000 miles away, I buried my face in my hands, distraught. I cried for a few minutes. Then I whipped open my computer and began plotting to do just that — to change all my plans and reservations and show up in my home town just four days later.