I am a week behind in my reading for Con Law, my laundry is piling up, I have grocery shopping to do, I have messages to return, and emails to send.

But all this can wait while I go vote. I will cast my ballot, even if it means falling another day behind, even if it means waiting in line for hours, even if it means standing in the rain.

Julie Albrecht Royce cautions that we not take our right to vote for granted:

Your odds of an IRS audit are 175-1, of having your identity stolen 200-1, of a meteor landing on your house 182,138,880,000,000-1.

But 1-in-3 registered female voters will find a reason not to vote Tuesday.

Perhaps, on Nov. 4, you are up to your eyeballs in job and family obligations. You have every intention of voting but something -- sick baby, soccer game, board meeting, last-minute work assignment, grocery shopping, or a hard-earned headache -- might get in the way. The polling place may be several minutes from your home. The lines may be long and you have no time to spare. You are only one person; does your vote really matter?

When Nov. 5 dawns, the dirty laundry may be piled higher and the to-do list may be longer, but the odds are absolute, you will never have another chance to vote in this presidential election.

She reminds us that a century ago, we would not have needed an excuse. It took a group of heroic women, as well as some brave men, to secure us the right to participate in our democracy:

The amendment required ratification by 36 states. In 1920, it came down to a stalemate in Tennessee. Harry Burn, the youngest member of the legislature, broke the deadlock. Despite his avowed position against the amendment, he answered the roll-call with a "yea," thus delivering to half of the United States' citizens the right of suffrage. (Poor Burn had to climb out a third-floor window of the Capitol to escape an angry mob.) When asked why the change of heart, Burn admitted that immediately before the vote his mother telegrammed, urging him to do the right thing.

Alice Walker said, "The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don't have any." There is power in the ballot. One person may not make the difference, but many people struggling together will be heard. If ever there was an election that proved the truth of that statement, it is this one: We have a man of color and a woman as serious contenders for national office in a country where 50 years ago that was not possible.

Karen Grigsby Bates waited six hours to vote:

I listened as Joyce, a black woman in her 60s, explained to a young Asian American woman why she was willing to endure the wait.

"50 years ago, in a lot of parts of the country, they wouldn't let someone like me vote," she said. "So I vote every election--but this one is especially important. This one is history."

History. You heard that over and over again. It's why people used their only day off to vote early. It's why several brought babes in arms; a woman in front of me held a 9-month-old who looked as if he could be a baby model.

"He won't remember he was here," she admitted, "but we can point to his picture that we took today, and he'll know he was part of history."

So the line continued, even as it poured briefly.

Even if it take hours. Even if it means standing in the rain. Make history. Vote.