Peanut Butter and Fizzy Water

More thoughts on the Apocalypse

The weird, sad fact is, I want nothing more than I want the Apocalypse. The end of all things means the end of obligations, failures, and future disappointments. No further payments will be remitted. I won't need to match my socks, and I can eat peanut butter and chocolate for as many consecutive meals as I want.

After people, there's no one left to dislike you.

I can see now that I've been gradually transforming my apartment into an austere bomb shelter (with thin walls and lots of windows, useless against actual bombs): a stockpile of canned beans, fizzy water, wine, and still-unread books just waiting till I have some free time. And what is the Apocalypse, if not a sudden excess of free time? "Finally, some peace and quiet!"

It's only now it occurs to me that I've been making a few probably-erronious assumptions:

1. That I will continue to exist after the Apocalypse (thereby to enjoy my stockpile of beans, books, and time); and
2. My obligations will not. I've been assuming that the Horsemen of the Apocalypse will round up the creditors first and the debtors later

—but since the extant literature gives us plenty of reason to believe the Apocalypse is more bad than good, I suppose it's better to assume that when the end comes, there won't be a whole lot of free reading time (nor light in which to do it); and now it seems completely possible that the bills will continue to arrive in the mail long after the sun has flared out. Death and taxes, they say, and student loans, too.

So, this revelation: the Apocalypse won't be the spa vacation I'd imagined.