Hypnosis? Colonoscopy? What some people will do to avoid Election Day.

There is only one rule governing the group of friends that will be spending election week at a chalet in the Blue Ridge Mountains: no talking about politics.

If anyone feels the need to break the rule - if they simply cannot go one hour longer without knowing what percentage of Michigan precincts are reporting - Cassidy DuHon, a Washington photographer, is prepared to enforce a temporary banishment.

“If you need to have a conversation about Donald Trump, if you need to watch MSNBC, if you need to doomscroll your phone,” says DuHon, “go in what we call ‘the grandpa room.’”

The grandpa room is, unlike the rest of the chicly decorated cabin in Virginia, a “tiny, stinky room,” with an ancient TV, “horrible old couch” with stains on its plaid wool, and “bad carpet” that reeks of decades-old cigarette smoke, says DuHon, 39. The lure of cable news on an election night will likely be too hard to resist for many of his friends, all of whom live in Washington, even with the odiferous and aesthetic deterrent. But DuHon plans to spend the entire week politics-free.

“You can check out” of election-night angst, he says. “I empower myself to do that.”

While most of Washington and much of America will be refreshing social media, staying glued to cable news and doing a jump scare at the buzz of every news alert, some wise, lucky souls have decided to digitally hibernate through it all.

To Rip Van Winkle themselves until a candidate hits 270 electoral votes.

To ostrich their heads into the metaphoric sand, blessedly unaware of whatever Steve Kornacki and Nate Silver and Fox News are saying. All of them have voted early, so they’ve done their part.

While DuHon is checking out of awareness, Jennifer Brody is checking out of the country. On Election Day, she will be participating in a writer’s retreat 8,000 miles away from her Joshua Tree, California, home, in a manor house in the town of Roscommon, Ireland.

“I kind of booked it on purpose,” says the novelist, listing several election-avoiding advantages: “big time change, Irish countryside, no television.”

Of course, escaping the election is a luxury that many people cannot afford - either financially or logistically, perhaps because their jobs depend on it. Shefali Luthra is a reporter covering reproductive health, so she has been working plenty so far this election season, and will be working late on Election Day. But her husband’s job in international development is only politics-adjacent, so he doesn’t have to stay glued to the news.

“There’s only so much I can do to control the events that I’ve already participated in,” says Logan Buzzell, 33, of Washington. “I just decided that I don’t want to deal with that level of stress.”

So he invited friends over for an election-night party that will involve playing video games - Mario Kart or Super Smash Bros. - and turning their phones on Do Not Disturb. Still, it was hard for him to find friends in Washington to commit to this plan.

“Most of them have said no,” he says, “because they’re like, ‘I know myself and I can’t quit it.’”

What they need is a cellphone sleeping bag. The cozy bags are handed out to all guests at the Miraval resorts in Austin and Tucson, where digital devices are prohibited in most common areas and guests are encouraged to unplug entirely. Bookings at those two locations are up nearly 20 percent for election week compared to the rest of November, according to a spokeswoman.

The actor Bruce Campbell, famous for his role in the Evil Dead film franchise, posted on X that he was “entering a news and social media blackout until after Election Day.” Reached by phone, Campbell politely declined to comment, saying that contributing to the thing he was trying to avoid - news - would defeat the purpose.

But for those that lack the willpower, maybe something a little more structured is in order? Perhaps a silent meditation retreat in the Berkshires?

“It’s so much more than just not talking for the week,” says Jess Frey, a yoga and embodiment teacher at the Kripalu Center for Yoga & Health in Stockbridge, Massachusetts, where she will be leading a silent retreat during the week of the election.

“We’re not coming to retreat during the week of the election necessarily to escape,” she says, but to learn a methodology of “how do we engage with reality, how do we actually come together in a community of practice when times are really complex, and we’re living in a state of world that is polarized, and people are isolated?”

But for those of us who can’t keep our mouths shut for a whole week, maybe there’s a fast track to that meditative, enlightened state. What about hypnosis? Dispel yourself of the loony tunes notion that someone can just dangle a watch in front of your face and conk you out until a winner is declared. It’s more like a state of focused relaxation, says Liza Boubari, a Los Angeles hypnotherapist who has treated patients for election-related anxiety.

“The misconception is that [the client is] asleep and ‘I can’t hear anything’ and ‘I am losing control,’” says Boubari. “There is no loss of control. As a matter of fact, when you are in a state of hypnosis, you are more in control of your physical body, your mental aptitude and your feelings than ever before.”

Workers in Las Vegas, St. Louis and L.A.-area retail outlets of Cookies, a cannabis company, have “reported multiple customers commenting about election-related stress and consuming cannabis to ‘help them cope,’” says Crystal Millican, the company’s senior vice president of retail and marketing, in an email. “Our team in San Juan, Puerto Rico, said there is an obvious heightened sense of anxiety, and the election is a huge topic of conversation between customers and Cookies’ budtenders.”

Maybe you want to be unconscious, or nearly so, for the climax of campaign season. If that’s the case, you can do what Hannah Cravotta-Crouch did: Schedule your colonoscopy for Nov. 5.

“This is a s---ty time, and it’s a s---ty procedure, so it’s good it’s happening on the same day,” says Cravotta-Crouch, 32, of Boston. “Hopefully the stuff they put me on makes me a little more loopy afterwards.”

Wisdom teeth will do, too. “I needed them out sooner rather than later because they’re causing me some issues,” says Lauren, a 39-year-old Alexandria, Virginia, woman who The Post is identifying only by first name to protect the privacy of her upper incisors. “And I said, ‘You know what? Let’s just do it on the 5th because I don’t think I want to be completely sober and conscious for this.’”

She’s not sure which event she’s dreading more. “When I think about one, I get a bit anxious,” she says, “and then when I think about the other, they reverse.”

Craig Girten, 43, of Independence, Kentucky, will be undergoing a colonoscopy on Nov. 6, when the news cycle could be worse.

“The anesthesia is about two hours,” Girten says. “And then the woozy feeling, if I’m remembering correctly - that lasts another two to three hours.” The only hitch in this plan, he later realized, was that he could not partake in his usual Election Day pastime: getting “rip-roaring drunk” (which is prohibited during colonoscopy prep).

“Getting ready for Nov. 5 is something we started a long time ago in our dialogue” with ministers and congregants, says Paul Ryder, of the Congregation for Sacred Practices, a group that utilizes psychedelic “sacred plant medicines” in its spiritual practice. (“These sacraments are still categorized by the DEA as Level 1 substances,” says the congregation’s website, though they are offered in locations where their use has been decriminalized.)

It’s not a day he would recommend undergoing a sacrament, if one’s intention is just to escape.

“This is part of the ride,” Ryder says, of Election Day. “This is part of being incarnated. This is not something to run away from.”

And you can only run for so long. Eventually, there’s a country to come back to - physically, spiritually - and work to be done. Best to channel that anxiety into something productive.

Like a novel. On Brody’s writer’s retreat in Ireland, she’ll be working on “Namaste & Slay,” pitched to her publisher as a feminist take on “The Most Dangerous Game.” In a wild coincidence, it’s about a woman who goes to a remote, off-the-grid yoga and meditation resort in the Berkshires. Let’s hope her heroine can escape.