end of the world

Today is the anniversary of the day that Skynet would have become self-aware and begun the war between man and machine. So everyone shout out a thanks to Sarah Connor for squashing Arnold Schwarzenegger's metal skeleton in a mechanical press and then blowing up a tech company, thus adverting the apocalypse. I hear those are a bummer.

Of course that was in 1997, or the 1984 version of a 1997 that didn't happen.

All of which is a long and complicated way of saying the future has arrived, the world hasn't ended, and somehow we're still not cruising around in flying cars.

I was halfway through writing a flippant post about trivial things. It will have to wait.

I got a text from my dad this afternoon. Call home, is what it basically said. With gravity. I had time to think, “Dad’s had to make too many of these calls lately,” before I went outside and pushed call back.

Out of respect for... out of respect... Jesus, I don’t even know. I’m not going to share it. That’s the point. It took Dad a full five minutes to get the words out to tell me. I don’t know what I could possibly say to you.

Yet again I am the bearer of bad tidings.

I.