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A Confession

I apologize. It was me. I take full responsibility that you woke up this morning to find the universe has ended, a chain of events that began when I decided to get up at six a.m. to accomplish something productive rather than continuing to lie in bed, sleepless, fretting over the usual material. I’m afraid the laws of space and time simply could not accommodate such stupefyingly uncharacteristic behavior; the resulting unraveling began the moment my feet hit the floor, and by six fifteen all of the matter and antimatter and dark matter had exploded into its component molecules, which then got sucked into black holes. Which then exploded. And there was an earthquake AND LAVA, which every mother’s child knows is the ultimate disaster, like when the floor turns into lava and you have to get across the room by jumping from the coffee table to a pillow and stuff, which of course have turned into rocks. And there were some tarantulas.

How are you?

Well, look, back to me. It’s going to be a weird day. I found out my mother is in the hospital, so I have to look into that. My city has for some reason transformed into one of those video games where you drive race cars around and around, except I think all of the video games these days are about shooting people, which my city, finally ahead of the trends on something, turned into years ago. Goblin has an acupuncture appointment. I am exhausted. And now this whole end of the universe thing. I guess I’d better make my oatmeal and get started.

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The Morning Is Light and Full of Terrors

It is not even noon, and already my daily quota of horrors has been filled. The first thing that happened was that I got up at eight a.m. to clean the dog poop out of the back yard. I realize that that sentence already contains the seeds of madness, but things escalate quickly around these here parts. I went into the basement to get a trash bag and heard heavy footsteps walking across the floor just over my head, which continued for several moments but stopped when I got halfway back up the stairs. It never occurred to me that this was anything but a terrifying ghost, as Kate was out of the house and my husband does not exactly arise with the roosters and in fact also misses the crows, pigeons, robins, orioles, hummingbirds, vultures, potato birds, and other feathered friends, most closely aligning his circadian rhythm to some particularly slugabeddish cockatiels in a distant timezone.

So, anyway, there was no one there.

I wrote recently of my plans to delight my potential heirs by causing them to spend the night in a haunted house and perform other feats of endurance to determine who is worthy of inheriting my worldly goods, which (I did not mention at the time) consist largely of Boston terrier memorabilia and oddly placed books that I killed bugs with in the distant past and have been afraid to move since. I suppose the haunted house part is settled.

Later, post cleanup, I was checking email and noticed one from the MVA. Guess what! It is time to renew my driver’s license. And guess what! “Because you are 40 years of age or older, you are required by state law to have vision screening before you renew.” Well, the joke is on them because I am not a day over 29 and haven’t been able to see anything for years.

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Uncle Monster

My nine nieces and nephews call me Uncle Monster, which indicates they are young enough not to realize that I own a house and a car and have no descendants of my own to be the beneficiaries of my will. I expect that eventually there will be fierce competition for my favor, though Uncle Monster has no intention of making this process a walk in the park. For decades, I have fantasized about a Last Will and Testament that specifies the designated lucky ducky must spend the night IN A HAUNTED HOUSE!!!!!! In preparation, I must obtain A HAUNTED HOUSE, some cobwebs, and a creepy portrait of myself with eyes that follow you around. Further details will emerge in consultation with the writers of every television series from the late twentieth century, as this–along with the arrival of an identical cousin–is one of the most important plot devices of that era. My only regret is that I will not be around to ROTFLMAO at the resulting hijinks, although perhaps the fortuitous arrival of my identical cousin will allow me to fake my own death and watch from a secret passage.

Ha ha, just kidding. I’m leaving everything to Goblin.

And I’m immortal.