Dear Beyond,

I had high hopes that I might be that lunatic fringe, but, alas, I am not. Lunatic, sure, no one’s gonna argue, it’s the fringe part.

See, I, too, have plans for apocalypse, but they are short. I plan to stand under the bombs as they begin falling. If there is an epidemic, I volunteer to be patient Zero — my children have been given permission to kill me as soon as I turn. I can only hope they wait that long, but there are days I don’t actually care if they wait or not.

It may sound depressing, but as a fellow lunatic, I’m certain you, of all people, understand. Now that the kids are older that I know we did a good enough job with them (they’re either Democrats or Satanists or Constitutional Party Members or Zoroastrianists, depending on their moods) & I completely broke the husband (who loves me very much but also doesn’t care on some days if the kids wait if I turn or not), going first into that Great Mystery just makes sense.

Living after the Apocalypse would seem to prolong the agony & some sort of false hope. I don’t even have real hope left. I can’t skip or run . The skipping thing seems really unimportant but you can’t skip & be in a bad mood, just try it. So, yeah.

Writer and storyteller, immigrant, wife, mom, knitter, collector of jokes, lover of cheap, sweet wine.

Writer and storyteller, immigrant, wife, mom, knitter, collector of jokes, lover of cheap, sweet wine.