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.

Written by

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

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