Well, it's coming to the wire, and madness reigns more than ever. Last night's terror attack en plein non-débat may have shaken things up yet again, just as the undecided were coming off the fence. I am in Indiana, where I have been lecturing on the election at Purdue. I refused to make any prediction during my talks here, and I woke up this morning still with no idea how this will turn out. My gut tells me ... nothing. And since I've been watching French elections now for (gasp!) half a century, my profound ambivalence should tell you something.
My sense is that Macron hasn't closed the deal, Mélenchon has been hitting all the high notes lately, Fillon's sheer bull-headedness has kept him in contention, and Marine Le Pen has reverted to form, partly erasing the gains she had made in de-demonizing the party. But I just don't know how it's going to end. On Sunday we'll know. Brexit and Trump have taught me to expect the unexpected, but the possibility of an impending disaster is never easy to contemplate. And this could end in complete and utter disaster.
How's that for a pessimistic start to your day.