End Of The World
It’s painfully obvious that today marks the end of the world as we know it. Radio stations will blast that damn R.E.M. song over and over again so we can all sing along about feeling just fine about the world coming to an end. Doomsday preppers will have a field day preparing their supplies and getting ready to bug out and be one of the few humans left after the disaster strikes. Others will spend the day in prayer, ready to ascend to the heavens and meet their maker. Me? I’ll likely be settled in with my husband and an ice cold beer, watching a movie as the pup dog tears apart a toy and the kid gets creative with his Legos.
If this truly is my last day on Earth, something I’m 100% sure is not true, I’m sure as hell not going to spend it wallowing in grief and stress. Without having Jeff Goldblum on speed dial, there isn’t anything I can do to prevent the destruction of the world around me. We have enough survival gear and supplies to last a little while if the proverbial shit hits the fan, but not nearly enough to go the distance. There’s nothing to be done so for me, there’s nothing worth doing that isn’t part of my normal routine. If I am vaporized after a giant ball of fire engulfs my house, at least my last breath will be spent on something positive.
I’m not going to panic but I’m also not going to overdo it on some sort of ironic celebration either. There will be no elaborate end of the world blowout bash for me, no spending sprees, no crazed drunken stupors, and no overdoing it on the jokes about the end of days. To go postal with the hilarity of the idea that this is our last day on this planet is to be no better off than the people who are making themselves miserable with worry. Of course I’m going to have fun with the idea that we’re gone within hours, but not to the point where it consumes my entire day.
Believe whatever you wish to believe about today, just believe it while standing on solid ground and keeping your head level and your emotions in check. When there are enormous comets rocketing to the Earth and lava spewing from the ground, go ahead and go postal. But until we are in some sort of tangible danger, what is the point of flying off the handle? We survived Y2K, we survived Rapture #1 and #2, so it’s looking pretty good that we’ll survive this one. Happy Doomsday, everyone.