I'll be honest: I'm finding it hard to write about this election. Like, really hard. Which is sad, because as a rule I generally quite enjoy writing about politics. But every time I sit down to write something about this election, my inspiration and my interest stall and evaporate, leaving me like an empty boat bobbing aimlessly and disconsolately against the pier.

And it's not that there's nothing in this election to write about. In fact, the problem may almost be the opposite. Every day of this election drowns us anew in detail, policy, scandal, slander, purported gaffes, actual gaffes, supposition, opinion, criticism, adulation and Mark Latham. There's such a surfeit of content and event that in the end most of us just phase out, victims of an electoral war of attrition in which everything is reported but nothing appears to matter. Perhaps that reflects poorly on us, the voters, too apathetic and time poor to have a care. Perhaps it reflects poorly on the parties, full of sound and fury, and signifying little but minor budgetary deviations. And perhaps it reflects poorly on the media, always looking for something to give this otherwise empty election a sheen of excitement and purpose. Perhaps all three; the last few weeks have not made for attractive viewing.

So, here I am. Faced with the potentially minimal task of trying to write a bi-weekly blog post about proceedings.

I could write about policy, but where to start? Where to finish? Every day brings with it a new saturation of policy detail, endlessly dissected by the media and of almost total abstraction to the regular voter. In the absence of ideology, we float in a sea of minutiae, unnavigable by all except the most hardened of public policy experts.

I could write about the media and about the turn to scandal and the abnegation of professional responsibility. But that's been done by others, better. I also fear for my own complicity.

I could write about Mark Latham, but what else needs to be said? The man is, quite obviously, a tremendous cock of a human being. The fact that we diced with making him Prime Minister in retrospect scares me more than the prospect of being led by Tony Abbott. But not by much.

I could write about Labor ructions, but most of the time that seems to be the only thing people are really keen to write about in this election. And dress it up how we will, it's a needless distraction that is in dire possibility of getting the Liberal Party back into power.

I could write about Tony Abbott, about the absurdity of a political party trying to get a broadly loathed figure into power by ensuring that he says and does as little of substance as possible. But writing any more about Tony Abbott feels too much like the easy self-satisfaction of the writerly set. We all know he's a tool. A further documentation of the reasons for said toolness is a bit too much like feeding the fat kid delicious cake.

I could write about Julia Gillard, but Women's Weekly got there first. As did Woman's Day, for whom she has guest edited an issue. Apparently Tim contributes a recipe. But then again Tony Abbott's daughters have done a fashion shoot for Grazia. You're right, this does feel like a moment of feminine emancipation!

I could write about the polls, the endless mathematising of the electoral process and the way it destroys the political economy of ideas. Actually I may well write about that later. There are, after all, still three more pre-election posts to go. Hoorah!

I could write about the Internet, about the major parties' seeming renunciation of digital engagement, the paucity of Liberal policy, the well known deficiencies of Labor policy (I'm looking at you, mandatory filter), the superiority of The Greens in the ICT debate...  Yeah, alright, I might write about that too.

I could write about the string of ministerial debates, but my God it's hard to care about what amounts to largely passion-free, hour long policy descriptions from people of variable competency.

I could write about Wendy Francis, but it seems almost redundant to further acknowledge such repellent bile from a political irrelevancy.

I could write about the environment. But nobody is talking about it. Great moral challenge of our time indeed.

I could write about asylum seekers and the mendacious falsities that have allowed this non-issue to once again trump the electoral proclivities of otherwise sensible humans. But while both parties keep talking so readily about the damn thing, my contribution or not, it's sure to remain the actual "great moral challenge" of our time.

I could write about people, voters, me, most generally apathetic, others easily skewed by wedge issues of little to middling importance. I wrote an impassioned screed about gay marriage, but could barely tell you what either of major parties had planned for the national economy. Something about surplus. But that's the story of compulsory voting during a vision-less election: in amidst a web of fiscal complexity most people will settle on the one or two issues about which they feel a general fervour. See above paragraph.

So, instead, I write about me. I write about the general sense of dissatisfaction and disenfranchisement which oozes through me every day that this election drags on. And I write about my writing, as an apology for not feeling I can write anything of consequence. I'm sure it will come back soon, but after a weekend of such generalised awfulness from pretty much every player in this dreary farce, I just didn't have it in me.

11 days to go. But every hour feels like a day in this Inception-like electoral bad dream.

So, in conclusion, this video may be a metaphor. Or it may just be a dude putting a brick in a washing machine. You decide.

But it's probably the latter.



[picture via Natalie Dee]