The world will end. Sunrises and sunsets have become predictable and monotonous. Ever since televised singing competitions started bringing one amazing voice after another into my living room, I need to be constantly amazed. I'm looking forward to a bright, fiery explosion on December 21.
No one knows precisely what time the end is to occur -- my only hope is that the shock doesn't give me a heart attack and I miss the amazing once-in-a-lifetime feeling of being sucked into a black hole. I planned on wearing comfortable shoes and a sweater -- but fuck it. I'm standing outside bare-ass naked before dawn. I did the same thing on the day of the Rapture, and only got a few complaints. I regret buying a home near a school.
I thought I might spend money recklessly for the next week, buying impractical things like antiques, furs, and pot-bellied pigs. But I got smart and decided to sell as much of my personal property to other suckers who had the same thought. One can never have too much hard cash.
I'm bitterly regretting things I've done like voting, tweeting, and flossing. The reflective realization that I never learned to tap dance or surf is eating me up inside.
Normally, I plan for a trip like this -- but without luggage or downloading movies onto my iPad it doesn't feel real.
I went online last night and googled images of all Seven Wonders of the World, saying my goodbyes and thanks for the hope. I also searched for muffin recipes just in case there is a 12/22 -- I haven't shopped so any gifts this year will be Martha Stewart-style.
I'm glad I'm not really, really rich -- they are dreading this most of all. Poor people are actually excited -- this is their backup plan to a 401K.
If the end isn't excruciatingly painful, smile and wave as you go by. If we have gained anything in our time on this planet as a species, it's civility.