The not-quite-right apocalypse
Hello? Hello? Anybody out there?
Yes. If you have any doubt, look in the mirror.
The mind screams “something isn’t right.”
And how is this different from any other day?
The dreams reach out and as I walk through them I see, know, understand. Awakening, I reach out to bring the thoughts to consciousness but only remember sitting and having a conversation. I remember nothing of substance. It’s like trying to interpret a Picasso painting.
You have to stop eating far sooner than an hour before bedtime.
That’s another question I want an answer to. How can I gain five inches in my waist in 20 minutes?
You don’t understand why you’re feeling that the apocalypse is at your feet.
I just want to know the why of it. Is it the volcano in my stomach, my mind, the world? Is it social, physical or personal?
Something is very, very wrong. I keep looking, soul-searching, asking…asking why something is very, very wrong. The thought comes from nowhere with an urgency like a siren blasting in back of me trying to warn me to move aside…move aside. Something is very, very wrong.
Are you through yet?
Tell me what it is, please.
Do you think you’re sick, dying or your house is going to fall down? Do you think you’re going to end up in a nursing home soon or have to live with your kids or your sister? Do you think you’re going to lose everything you own and at the end of your life you’ll have nothing to show that you were here?
You’re having one of those days. Again?
It’s more like one of those months. It feels like the entire world is about to go insane, like Landru and that festival on Star Trek the original series where people ran into the streets and went nuts for a day because a computer was running the world.
They came back alive, for the most part. You’re envisioning an apocalypse either personal or societal.
But when it all falls down it’s going to be at once and no one will suspect it was going to happen until it’s too late. I see rioting in the streets, everyone kicking into survival mode and at the end of 3 days 90 percent of the population gone.
Do you feel better writing about it.
Then go to bed and read this tomorrow. If you still want to publish it on your blog, I suggest you refrain from saying anything about tin foil hats.
They don’t work and they’re not very comfortable.
Go to bed before you start pontificating about colloidal silver.
It’s tomorrow. I read over what I wrote.
I’ve got to stop eating so close to bedtime.
What about the apocalypse?
The one in my stomach, my mind, or the world?
Not much I can do about the inevitable. Every civilization has a rise, a fall and a personal apocalypse.
Once things start falling apart, you won’t have to worry about eating too much so close to bedtime.
You have a sick sense of humor.
You’ve said that before and as I have repeated ad nauseam, you’re talking to yourself.
Therefore, I’m the one with the sick sense of humor? I don’t remember creating me. If I had created me I certainly wouldn’t stick toothpick legs and size 9-narrow feet on a short woman’s body. It’s like walking on 2 empty paper towel rolls screwed onto stilts.
You forget that at least you have legs and feet. Let’s talk about something important. Are you satisfied you’ve found your answer.
Not when it’s worse than the question. There’s a spider with 5 inch legs crawling on my comforter. Is that a sign?
No. it’s a spider.
I think I see a sign forming in my mind. It says…it says…