In the days before the end of the world

In the days before the end of the world, I enjoyed myself quite a bit. Even at that time, I had this idea, this inkling that the world was ending and instead of upsetting me, I think it acted rather as a fire under my ass. It was upsetting, of course, the environmental disasters, the war, the famine, and the death. But it all seemed rather distant. The worst part was that my grandparents in Florida were closer to the end of the world than me, and I did worry about them. But I had enough to eat every day and a house with four walls to live in and that was really all I thought I needed. I worked a lot, but I felt that work gave my life meaning. I had good food and good sex in large quantities and the autumn before the end of the world was warm and sunny, a light hearted mockery of the climate change to come. I found myself doing things like buying new dancing shoes, or booking tickets for a concert in February. I made plans to meet a friend in New York City over winter break, although we both knew full well the likelihood of either of us, let alone both of us, making it to the spring was slim at best. In the days before the end of the world, I called a partner, nearly frenzied. "The world is ending." I told him, "We can't just sit around and do nothing." I cried to him for a while, and then we got off topic and talked and laughed and I went and made dinner. As if I couldn't tell you that it was the end of the world.