#395

Guess the point of inflection has come, and the truth of the matter has become clear to me at last: I have simply been dreading the end of civilization. Indeed, I have essentially been immature about it, but I'll cut myself some slack. The calculus around the end of the world and the feelings I'm able and obliged to have about that math had changed since last I came to terms with it, and instead of dealing with it, I just stewed and panicked and chainsmoked. Having a house and a spouse and two cats to watch out for instead of just myself is a lot more complicated and I didn't want to deal with it. 

But I'm done with that. WWIII, crossing the climate threshold, the collapse of the United States, nuclear holocaust, whatever. Yeerks and replicants and shadow government plants could be all around me and poised to strike, for all I care. For all that it matters. Demons writhing out of the gound like Hellboy. It is what it is. It changes nothing. I can only be myself and do what I'm able to bring about some measure of relief. Continually returning to the public library for more Star Wars books, for example. 

Just gotta roll with the punches. Just gotta keep breathing and do your best. It's like Aragorn tells Éomer: shit don't shuffle, right-and-wrong-wise, based on how scary the times got. Just gotta do what you gotta do.

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Man, it's crazy to feel even reasonably, cautiously calm. For the first time in months! Wow.

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Now if you'll excuse me, I have a manifesto to write. Then, back to the manifold solaces of fiction.

--JL