It’s suppose to be the end of the world today, but I have this feeling that things are going to keep on keeping just like they do every day. But, see, when you have people follow these idiot religious geeks who go on about how one religious text or another sez today is the day some of us are gonna get out asses Raptured, then you have to pay attention because the news is making fun of said geek. Which I don’t have a problem with because making fun of religious geeks is good sport for me–it’s right up there with pointing out how Pat Buchanan still loves him some awesome white supremacy and is only one GOP debate away from going full-on Mistah Kurtz and founding his own Sulaco.
Strangely, if memory serves me right (Thank you, Chairman Kaga), the world was suppose to end 4 days ago with the passing of Comet Elenin. Said comet was, back in the spring, being hailed as everything from the rouge planet Nibiru to aliens coming for our water and wimmin. (Note to aliens: if you really want our water, you missed it a light year back in the Oort Cloud.) Of course if one had bothered to do any reading, they’d have known by now that (1) it was a rather unassuming comet that, believe it or not, broke up as it rounded the Sun, and (2) every other idea put forward by waterheads was pure bullshit.
Yeah, it’s one of those days. The crazy is out there for all to grab.
Since I’m doing NaNoWriMo in a few days (let me check the countdown . . . 10 days, 16 hours, 56 minutes as of right now), the few friends I have who are also doing it are starting to . . . well, some are beginning to fall into panic mode. You know, when you think about it, doing a 50,000 words novel in 30 days is a daunting task; it takes a certain mind-set to sit down and crank out 1800 to 2000 words a day, and I can fully understand the panic. You start thinking, “Can I really do this?”, or “Do I have a good idea?”, or lastly, “Is real life gonna get in the way?”, because this last is usually the thing that burns all aspiring writers. It would be great if all of us who love to write could get that 2 years of government aid that would allow us the time to spend developing a story about some geeky kid in glasses who hooks up with a bunch of gingers at magical wizarding school and finds himself the object of hatred by Mr. Magical Nazi, but, hey: I live in the U.S., and I’m told that if I ain’t working three jobs I just ain’t American.
And not only am I dealing with the crazy and the end of the world (which, frankly, I think is gonna be late–again) but I got me some strange dreams to get through from last night. Sure, any more I don’t think they’re that strange: I’ve been getting into a lot of things with my writing over the last few weeks, and since my brain was already twisted from jump, having strange dreams is not big deal any more.
Yeah, it’s one of those days. I’ll do some writing, I’ll do some editing (just as soon as Trusty Editortm shows up), and I’ll probably find the time to talk about my dreams–
Oh, and I’ll miss the end of the world. Again.
Damn it, when are these religious geeks gonna get it right?
