About The End of the World

Post 571:

            Maybe I’ve told the story. One of my earliest memories. No joke. I was struggling through a book about earth and the solar system. I was an early reader, but I’m sure I was total crap. Dogged though—and the visual aids were enough to get me through the finer points.

            There it was. Basically the worst thing ever. I’m running through the family home in hysterics, holding a book half my weight. Screaming for a refutation of this body blow of information.

            What was the bad news?

            I held out the horrible image of the sun. It was in that stage in the future where it grows so big it completely engulfs the earth.

            I was understandably upset, because when you’re a tyke you don’t think about the complete incineration of your planet on the reg.

            There were tears. My tiny brain fought to process the information. I’m almost positive someone told me it was nothing to worry about, because everyone we would ever care about would totally be dead by then.

            More good news.

            The lesson I took away was that there are some things you just can’t think about all the time. They’re a drag. They don’t help. Maybe the fact that the world is going to end is humbling, but other than that, I don’t see a lot of benefits.

            This is what I’ve been saying. We need to take away books from the children. They’re dangerous and they cause tears. My agenda finally comes to the fore.

            I kid.

            Either way, totally don’t worry. Impending doom, impending shmoom.

            Cheers and see you after.