Thursday, March 12, 2015

Mini-Post: The World Will Not End On Sunday

I have some good news for everyone: 

The world will not end on Sunday!  I’m sure you’re all thrilled.  (Unless you’re one of those assholes that want the world to end so you can do what you want and hurt who you want.) 

I never truly thought the world was going to end on March 15th, 2015, mind you.  I’m not sure if anyone anywhere does think that; I just remember that I dreamed it back in the spring of 2004.  My subconscious made a doomsday prediction.  I remember telling the people I knew in college about my dream, and one person looked freaked out.  (So maybe she believed it?  Nah… probably not.) 

I haven’t thought about this dream in years, but now that the coming date has jarred my memory, I remember the basic gist of it: 


I remember that I’m with my family (as in aunts, uncles, grandparents, etc.)  We’re all going down into my grandparents’ basement, which has apparently been sufficiently fortified to protect us from the fallout.  I’m thinking that I’m not sure if I like the idea of huddling in the dark for what’s left of my life with some of these people.  I don’t have much time to think any further, though, since we realize that my uncle’s dog is still outside in the yard.  My uncle and I rush out to grab him.  As I pass the kitchen, I see a calendar that says “March 2015.”  I somehow knew specifically that the date was the 15th.  (Maybe there was something written on the calendar or I looked at my watch.)  My uncle gets outside first and grabs his dog.  I’m holding the patio door open for him as he hurries back when a nuke strikes nearby.  There’s a blindingly bright flash and deafening noise.  That’s all I remember.


Don’t start getting scared; there’s some evidence that this dream isn’t prophetic.  For one, the calendar showed March 15th as falling on a Monday, and obviously it’s actually on Sunday.  I figured that error out years ago.  Also… that family that I’m taking shelter with:  Yeah… it’s the family that I’ve repeatedly referenced being estranged from, so I’ll be amazed if I’m hanging out in their basement by Sunday.  (Granted, I was still in contact with them back in 2004.  It’s not like my subconscious knew the future.)  I’m not even sure if my uncle’s dog is still alive today.  He could be, though he’d be getting up there in terms of age.  (Although that might explain why my uncle picks him up and carries him…)

Whatever.  Either way, I’m quite sure I’ll still be waking up and shambling into the gym on Monday morning.  Cheers!

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