The Year Before the End

The Awl did an eclectic sort of series about 2011 being the last year because of the Mayan calendar 2012 apocalypse thing. Here are excerpts from the two pieces I really liked.

Going to Zero

[...]

Until now, I did nothing. And now this. This. This thing that you're reading. This is the only thing I've done, maybe in my whole entire life. And just look at it. If there really was a god, he or she would right now strike you dead where you are sitting or standing for handling or even associating with something as pitiful as this. Until now, I did nothing. Now, I write. And it's not enough. It's still, properly speaking, doing nothing, and the vanity with which I hold on to every word here is so gross and pitiable that were we standing here face-to-face I couldn't bear to look you in the eye.

Possible Resolutions for the Apocalypse Year

If I knew the world was coming to an end, I would fuck with impunity. I would crunch birth control pills between my teeth like they were pink Pez all day long... I would try to feel good all the time. Life would no longer be the continuing mission of seeking out a quiet frequency on the radio dial or keeping my side of the street clean. I would be an entirely external creature, using anything besides my sense of self to sustain a delirious high.

I would allow the creeping nihilism I’ve kept mostly at bay to erupt like a geyser. My moods would be ruled by the strength of pills, the barrels of booze, and the decadent oblivion of crime, money and sex. After 365 days I’d be burnt to such a magnificent and malignant crisp that I’d welcome death.

Except. On the day the news first broke that it was all going to end, I would get on a flight to ______. I’d go to your apartment, the one I used to have a key to. I’d bang on the door until you opened it. I’d fall at your feet. I’d beg. I’d plead. I’d promise. I’d cry. I’d remind you that it couldn’t last more than a year.

If you let me in, I would never leave again.