It's 7am, and I'm drinking Treat Day skank coffee, which is filled to the rim with sugary hazelnut goodness. It's rapturous.
Well, maybe not.
I mean, it didn't turn me into a pile of ash. And it tastes heavenly. And the morning's way too pretty for hell on earth to be happening. Twitter seems to think it's not going to go down until 6pm or so, so I guess I'm in for a long day of cupcakes, Five Guys, and cinnamon rolls, which are almost the perfect shade of brown. Three more minutes in the oven, then it's cinnamony rapture time.
I'm sorry. I don't mean to make fun of religious zealotry... much.
But it seems kind of funny that the people so determined they know God's will think he's set a date and time to swoop them all up to somewhere better. Like this life's not good enough. That's what I find so insulting, I guess. That stubborn insistence that today's just a waiting room for a place where people can *truly* be happy.
I remember when Y2K was on the way, and my religious grandparents had a total stockpile of food, just in case. I found a can of Cesar Tasty Bits stuck in between all those tins of tuna fish and potted meat, and I slipped that one in the trash without telling Mimi that God didn't want her to end her days eating dog food.
Of course, Y2K passed without a blip. And I'm hoping today's rapture and next year's Mayan doomsday will as well. At the very least, I hope the Mayan gods wait until after my book gets published, because I want to throw one hell of a launch party and invite all of y'all.
Plus, I've got a lot of everyday raptures I want to go on enjoying.
The rapture of a little boy's full-body hug.
The rapture of a little girl singing songs about Transformers.
The rapture of a beautiful, sunny day and laughter by the pool.
The rapture of that funny little Carolina Wren that builds a nest in our outdoor grill every single year, thereby insuring we haven't grilled out in four years.
The rapture of writing, or painting, or reading, or just holding the hand of someone you love while watching season 1 of Justified on DVD.
The rapture of ziplining and horseback riding and whitewater rafting and snorkeling and having adventures that shock you out of your everyday blur.
The rapture of hot cinnamon rolls and sugary coffee that's all the more rapturous now that I only get it once per week.
And the rapture of finally having muscles, thanks to forgoing the sugar for six days a week.