The end

 I was relieved to see the movie posters announcing the end of the world.  Considering the enduring morosity of the stock market, I was pretty sure my 401K was so shot I would never have been able to retire.

One less thing to worry about. 

December 12 2012 is doomsday in the Mayan calendar.  2 years, 4 months and 15 days from now (I think I'm counting right but not being Mayan I am challenged with counting days) we are done with.  Kaput. 

Volcanic eruptions, flooding, tsunamis, nuclear meltdowns.  It'll be grand.

The movies and websites hope that a few of us will survive.  The people in the movie preview are looking very good with makeup and all, but although heroism is tempting, I think I'm going to pass.  It's just too much work.   I am not up to stockpiling on batteries.  I'd rather re-read Emily Dickinson than slug  through the navy seal and wilderness survival trainings to make it on time for the big deadline. 

And my chances of the federal govervnment picking me to board Noah's Ark to start a colony on the Moon are below nil.  They never pick Directors of Human Resources for these missions.  Engineers, biologists, phyisicists, neurosurgeons, priests, mechanics.  They might even throw in a seamstress and a broom-pusher but they'll be half-way to Jupiter with everybody fighting and no policy on overtime before they'll realize they forgot the HR Director.  Nope, I won't be on the Ark.

I'll have to wait at home with the rest of you, eating the last bag of stale Cheetos I will have been able to steal in the pre-doomsday melee at the grocery store.  Hopefuly I will have stolen a bottle of bourbon and some old lady's Valium too.

Yes the end will be a drag but the short-term should be a ton of fun. 

Think of it: no more colonoscopies every five years.  And with the money saved from not putting a new roof, you and me can splurge on a big motorcyle that we'll ride without a helmet.  Don't you love the end?

Comments

[rumi]

Outside, the freezing desert night. This other night inside grows warm, kindling. Let the landscape be covered with thorny crust. We have a soft garden in here. The continents blasted, cities and little towns, everything become a scorched, blackened hell. The news we hear is full of grief for the future, but the real news inside here is there's no news at all.

[Chris Molineaux]

Yum... Stale Cheetos, burbon, and Valium. Sign me up!