The morning opened gray and wet, and I had been looking forward to an outing in the city and a fun, relaxing day. No sooner had I risen and greeted the day, such as it was, than Princess Amy began shrieking at the top of her metaphorical lungs: "Run for your life! The sky is falling!"
Newcomers to the Circular Journey Cafe may want to use the search field at the top of the page to query for 'limbic system,' 'Princess Amy,' or 'Genome.' Do it later; if you do it now, you'll fall into the rabbit hole and we may never see you again.
For now, suffice it to say that Amy sits at the command console of my mind-ship, her hands on the controls that determine the emotional nebulas we encounter. Hoping to get to the bottom of her current brew-ha-ha, I decided to confront her.
"What exactly is the problem, Your Highness?"
"What's the problem!" she wailed, "I'll tell you the problem! "The heat index is 111 degrees! Global warming is melting the polar ice caps faster than expected. Empty cars sit in parking lots all across Brunswick, with the engines running and air conditioning on while people are in the stores shopping! What's next? Long lines at the gas pumps? Power outages? No WiFi? It's the beginning of the end of civilization as we know it!"
I had to admire the logical progression, even if it resembled the reasoning process of someone who's never met a slippery slope they couldn't ski down at breakneck speed.
"Tranquilo, tranquilo, mi pequeña amiga," I said without the italics but with sincere concern. "The end of civilization as we know it may turn out to be not as bad as we imagine."
"You see, my little friend, the world I knew ended a long time ago, and I'm not saying I don't miss it, but it hasn't been as bad as I expected."
When I mentioned that my world had ended, it made me think about doomsday—not the way Amy sees it, where running out of her favorite yogurt feels like an apocalypse, but the real idea of doomsday that has intrigued humans since we first learned to worry about the future.
In religious contexts, doomsday represents the final judgment of humanity, the ultimate cosmic performance review where we discover whether we've been promoted to eternal bliss or permanently transferred to the complaint department.
Ancient Norse mythology gave us Ragnarök, an apocalyptic event so thorough it destroys not just Earth but the sun, moon, and gods themselves, which strikes me as somewhat excessive, like using a shotgun to kill a spider.
Then there's the Doomsday Clock. This metaphorical clock is currently set at 89 seconds to midnight according to their latest statement, though my notes suggest it was 111 seconds when I started thinking about this topic. I've been procrastinating on this essay longer than I care to admit.
The Doomsday Clock represents humanity's proximity to global catastrophe, with the hands moved closer to midnight as dangers increase. For perspective, consider that the twenty-four hours of this metaphorical timepiece represent either the entire span of human history.
I decided to calculate the probability distribution of the exact date and time using Schrödinger's probability calculations based on the wave function of quantum physics, but don’t panic. I’m not about to quote mathematical formulas.
I chose to use as input, the original biblical description of doomsday—the final Judgement Day—but all I fund there is the assertion that no one but God knows the timing:
"But of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels which are in heaven, neither the Son, but my Father only."
With the clock set to 89 seconds from midnight, the solution to the equation suggested that The End can be expected no sooner than 2:45 PM a week from next Wednesday.
It's not an exact time. It’s something like the temporal equivalent of choosing the least popular flavor at an ice cream shop—technically possible but profoundly unlikely.
"See?" Princess Amy interjected. She'd apparently been eavesdropping on my internal monologue like someone monitoring emergency radio frequencies.
"Even the scientists agree! We're all doomed! I demand we immediately begin stockpiling paper goods, bottled water, and emergency rations!"
"Your Majesty," I replied in what I hoped were soothing tones, "Judgement Day has been coming since midnight on New Year's Eve in the year 999, when European Christians climbed trees to be closer to Jesus when he descended from heaven to fetch the living and the dead."
"So?" she said, and I heard a hint of confusion in her voice told me she was having second thoughts.
"Well," I began, "if we panicked every time we thought The End was near, we'd have all died of anxiety-induced exhaustion long before any actual apocalypse arrived."
Princess Amy’s view of the end of the world differs greatly from most people’s. Scientists research doomsday scenarios like asteroid strikes, volcanic eruptions, and the probability distribution of artificial intelligence deciding humans are unnecessary.
Amy approaches potential disappointment with the same level of existential dread that Stephen King brings to writing horror novels, except less productive and with more crying.
But here's the interesting part: despite Amy's tendency to minor disappointment like the opening scene of Mad Max, she occasionally stumbles onto legitimate concerns. Global warming is real. Supply chain disruptions do happen. Sometimes the sky actually is falling. Neil DeGrasse Tyson's YouTube video about space debris makes that point clear.
The trick is learning to distinguish between Amy's false alarms—which occur roughly every time a cloud passes over the sun—and genuine reasons for concern. It's like having a smoke detector that goes off when you toast bread: it's annoying, but you still want it to work when there's an actual fire.
It helps to search for that silver lining. For instance, I’ve noticed recently that thunderstorms and high humidity have neighborhood lawns looking better than ever.
If we're really only 89 seconds from midnight, we might as well enjoy the lawns and everything else while we can.
The End, as they say, is always coming. But until it arrives, we'll just have to muddle through with spoiled princesses, uncertain timepieces, and the eternal hope that Wednesday afternoon will be as boring as it sounds.
For now, suffice it to say that Amy sits at the command console of my mind-ship, her hands on the controls that determine the emotional nebulas we encounter. Hoping to get to the bottom of her current brew-ha-ha, I decided to confront her.
"What exactly is the problem, Your Highness?"
"What's the problem!" she wailed, "I'll tell you the problem! "The heat index is 111 degrees! Global warming is melting the polar ice caps faster than expected. Empty cars sit in parking lots all across Brunswick, with the engines running and air conditioning on while people are in the stores shopping! What's next? Long lines at the gas pumps? Power outages? No WiFi? It's the beginning of the end of civilization as we know it!"
I had to admire the logical progression, even if it resembled the reasoning process of someone who's never met a slippery slope they couldn't ski down at breakneck speed.
"Tranquilo, tranquilo, mi pequeña amiga," I said without the italics but with sincere concern. "The end of civilization as we know it may turn out to be not as bad as we imagine."
"You see, my little friend, the world I knew ended a long time ago, and I'm not saying I don't miss it, but it hasn't been as bad as I expected."
When I mentioned that my world had ended, it made me think about doomsday—not the way Amy sees it, where running out of her favorite yogurt feels like an apocalypse, but the real idea of doomsday that has intrigued humans since we first learned to worry about the future.
In religious contexts, doomsday represents the final judgment of humanity, the ultimate cosmic performance review where we discover whether we've been promoted to eternal bliss or permanently transferred to the complaint department.
Ancient Norse mythology gave us Ragnarök, an apocalyptic event so thorough it destroys not just Earth but the sun, moon, and gods themselves, which strikes me as somewhat excessive, like using a shotgun to kill a spider.
Then there's the Doomsday Clock. This metaphorical clock is currently set at 89 seconds to midnight according to their latest statement, though my notes suggest it was 111 seconds when I started thinking about this topic. I've been procrastinating on this essay longer than I care to admit.
The Doomsday Clock represents humanity's proximity to global catastrophe, with the hands moved closer to midnight as dangers increase. For perspective, consider that the twenty-four hours of this metaphorical timepiece represent either the entire span of human history.
I decided to calculate the probability distribution of the exact date and time using Schrödinger's probability calculations based on the wave function of quantum physics, but don’t panic. I’m not about to quote mathematical formulas.
I chose to use as input, the original biblical description of doomsday—the final Judgement Day—but all I fund there is the assertion that no one but God knows the timing:
"But of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels which are in heaven, neither the Son, but my Father only."
Matthew 24:36
With the clock set to 89 seconds from midnight, the solution to the equation suggested that The End can be expected no sooner than 2:45 PM a week from next Wednesday.
It's not an exact time. It’s something like the temporal equivalent of choosing the least popular flavor at an ice cream shop—technically possible but profoundly unlikely.
"See?" Princess Amy interjected. She'd apparently been eavesdropping on my internal monologue like someone monitoring emergency radio frequencies.
"Even the scientists agree! We're all doomed! I demand we immediately begin stockpiling paper goods, bottled water, and emergency rations!"
"Your Majesty," I replied in what I hoped were soothing tones, "Judgement Day has been coming since midnight on New Year's Eve in the year 999, when European Christians climbed trees to be closer to Jesus when he descended from heaven to fetch the living and the dead."
"So?" she said, and I heard a hint of confusion in her voice told me she was having second thoughts.
"Well," I began, "if we panicked every time we thought The End was near, we'd have all died of anxiety-induced exhaustion long before any actual apocalypse arrived."
Princess Amy’s view of the end of the world differs greatly from most people’s. Scientists research doomsday scenarios like asteroid strikes, volcanic eruptions, and the probability distribution of artificial intelligence deciding humans are unnecessary.
Amy approaches potential disappointment with the same level of existential dread that Stephen King brings to writing horror novels, except less productive and with more crying.
But here's the interesting part: despite Amy's tendency to minor disappointment like the opening scene of Mad Max, she occasionally stumbles onto legitimate concerns. Global warming is real. Supply chain disruptions do happen. Sometimes the sky actually is falling. Neil DeGrasse Tyson's YouTube video about space debris makes that point clear.
The trick is learning to distinguish between Amy's false alarms—which occur roughly every time a cloud passes over the sun—and genuine reasons for concern. It's like having a smoke detector that goes off when you toast bread: it's annoying, but you still want it to work when there's an actual fire.
It helps to search for that silver lining. For instance, I’ve noticed recently that thunderstorms and high humidity have neighborhood lawns looking better than ever.
If we're really only 89 seconds from midnight, we might as well enjoy the lawns and everything else while we can.
The End, as they say, is always coming. But until it arrives, we'll just have to muddle through with spoiled princesses, uncertain timepieces, and the eternal hope that Wednesday afternoon will be as boring as it sounds.
I love the way your stories tell it like it is but with a smile. KH
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