Plan A
My internal monologue, ever the pessimist, keeps reminding me of late of the ways that my “Plan A”s are all contingencies … all wishful thinking tied up in expectations of what constitutes “normal.” Expected outcomes taken for granted. Impending doom conveniently ignored.
The degrees I’ll pursue, the careers I’ll strive for. If the passing of peak oil doesn’t bring about a revolutionary change of life as we know it, complete with widespread famine, immobility, panic.
The family we’ll have. If there isn’t a nuclear winter.
The places we’ll live. If the water crisis doesn’t pit state against state, neighbor against neighbor for access to the few vital lakes and freshwater supplies left after our orgy of pollution and unsustainable irrigation.
I watch my Plan A’s twisted into Plan B or C or D, completely unprepared for what the future is going to bring. Hoping for the same old same old, in a desperate dream that the way of life we all imagine to be permanent really can be. Haunted by dread, convinced that all the ways that this lifestyle cannot hold are ready to come finally, catastrophically crashing down.