It's not because I've found myself home alone on a weeknight with not a room-mate to bother me.
It's not because as I'm writing this I'm torn between my column-writing integrity and the all-new episode of Modern Family playing on my television.
It's not even because I recently had my first taste of "I Can't Believe it's Not Butter"…and still can't believe it's not butter.
Well, truth be told, they're all rather baffling, but not my main cause of confusion.
I'm confused because the end is nigh. And none of us are doing anything about it.
Remember those inspirational posters you used to look at in high school? The ones that had cheesy slogans like "Live every day like it is your last"?
Now, I didn't pay attention to anywhere near as much as I should have during those secondary school years, but I kind of wish I had paid more attention to that one.
Because I think we are pretty bad at it.
December 21, 2012: the day when everything stops. The day when the universe simply decides to stop operating in a functional manner.
The day when we all stop and say: "Darn - those Mayans were right."
The Mayan Calendar and its 2012 predictions have been well documented for some time now.
Ever since it was proudly hung on its first living room wall, aptly placed on its first office desk and digitally inscribed into its first mobile phone, that little date-telling device has warned society about December 21 to no end.
Its message has been blunt.
Its prediction has been frightening.
And its forecast of galactic alignment, giant earthquakes and a chance of apocalyptic solar storms in a few weeks' time has been one to make Livio Regano a proud man.
So hence my confusion. Why do we still choose to ignore the warnings?
I mean, sure, I'm right up there with the most passive of them all. I've taken this whole "end of the world" thing about as seriously as an episode of The Simpsons.
If I was, I doubt I'd be where I was right now. I'd be living life as much as I could!
Yet here I am, allegedly less than a month away from the end, with not so much as a plane ticket to Paris, a bungee rope or a triathlon entry form in sight.
My unfulfilled life aside, it does make you think: why don't we live like that?
See, even if we don't believe the Mayans' bold prophecies, we don't know they're wrong.
Can you imagine the flack the Mayan-a-saurus must have copped when he said the dinosaurs' time was up? I think we all know who won that little debate, even if the prehistoric predictor didn't get much of a chance to go through his well-rehearsed "in your face" victory dance.
Now imagine the regret felt by those other dinosaurs as meteors fell like raindrops from the sky.
There was the raptor with a guilty conscience as big and scary as the murderous claws on his big toes.
There was the Triceratops left to ponder what could have been had he removed one of his horns to become the first Duoceratops.
And of course, there was the T-Rex who never asked that Brachiosaurus out to dinner…despite significant relationship incompatibilities.
The point is, if it would give our lives a spark - if it would take away that regret - why not at least pretend to believe?
Only then will we live each day like it's our last.
And who knows? Maybe I'll be less confused too.
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