Saturday, January 3

The weather, my friends, is sick. It's January 3rd and it's 65 degrees outside. It feels like it's May or something. The plant on my balcony isn't dying. We actually turned the air conditioner on last night when it got too balmy in the apartment. January. AC. ???

I'm beginning to accept Phil's assessment of this as the End Times. Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not going to drape placards around my neck and walk around the airport, urging people to repent. But I am going to watch (and, when I can can, participate) with great interest as the events of Earth-as-it-is give way to a massive change into What-Earth-will-become. I don't know if it involves me and my family and friends alive or not. That's the scary part.

Of course, my practical self scoffs at the idea of the world ending. But the superstitious part of me knows that it is actually possible that I could live through a major event that could throw the whole world into turmoil and change life as we know it. I'm not talking about Jesus coming back on a golden cloud or whatever. I'm talking about all the despair and greed and machismo in this world to come to a head and launch nuclear armageddon or something. These men and their war games. Why can't they all just play Risk and be done with it?

I have totally and completely wasted my vacation. Mission accomplished. I haven't left this apartment in three days. I've showered (reluctantly), but I've not budged from these pajamas. It's great getting fat and lazy. I should really read more, though, instead of play so many video games. (I am a child of Nintendo; it's in my blood.)

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