Here I sit at 6 a.m. on December 21. We’re all still here as I expected we would be, despite all the end-of-Mayan-calendar, end-of-the-world talk we’ve been listening to for what seems like an eternity. I’m actually a little disappointed, because there were a few things I was looking forward to, such as:
- Avoiding the age-old problem of two kids who refuse to get out of bed on time during the school week but who come running downstairs at 5:15 a.m. on their first day of Christmas vacation, hounding me to let them use their electronics.
- Not having to see any more of those stupid zombie apocalypse memes that flood my Facebook feed.
- Enjoying a few glasses of wine in the afterworld. Now I have to keep staying sober.
- Not having to fold laundry or buy groceries.
- Not having to wrap Christmas gifts.
- Gaining the ability to levitate.
- Getting out of jury duty.
- Not having to get up and dressed.
- Getting to meet Jim Morrison, Dimebag Darrell and John Belushi.
Truthfully, though, I’m happy to have some extra time to get life right. I’m not there yet.