I guess I’ve been out of the loop. I’ve just learned that on 12/21/2012, one day shy of my 48th birthday, the world will come to an end. It seems that in precisely 3 years, 71 days and 13 hours, the Mayan calendar runs out. Historians, philosophers, astronomers and others are all weighing in on predictions relating to cosmic shifts, meteor showers, tidal waves and all varieties of Armageddon, bringing forth an end to civilization as we know it.

Seriously, who knew?  I guess Nostradamus also predicted it, so there’s gotta be something to it. A quick Google search on the subject yielded over 18 million results, and it looks like there’s a lot of good people out there who, for a fee, can give me the tips I’ll need for survival. There’s even a 2012 Survival Conference planned in nearby Scottsdale next week. Maybe I should go, just in case.

I’ve got mixed feelings about this. As much as I hate the idea of missing out on what I’m sure would have been a swell birthday party, at least I can stop worrying about saving for retirement and the kids’ college. And starting immediately, I will no longer hesitate to order that double bacon cheesburger for lunch.

When the end comes, you’ll find me at home with my family, Guinness in hand. We’ll pull out the lawn chairs, cue up the 2001 Space Odyssey CD, and watch for falling stars.

Hey, at least my term life policy will still be in effect! But then again, I’m sure the insurance company will find some technicality and weasel out of paying up.

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