I’m busy trying to get rich and famous before the world ends.
I’m frantically trying to figure out how to make a living while countries freeze, flood or burn and species die in the hundreds of thousands.
I’m wondering what the hell is the point of art if we’re all going to die.
I’m wondering what the hell is the point of anything other than art if we’re all going to die.
I wonder what the world will look like if I manage to survive until I’m a little old lady.
I wonder where I’ll be.
I wonder who I’ll be with.
I wonder if my friend’s children will be ok.
I wonder if they’ll hate us for all that we did. Or didn’t do.
I wonder if I’ll try telling stories to disinterested youths about fish and coral and how I remember a time when the ocean wasn’t barren.
I’m hoping to get a bit more sex before the world ends.
I want adventures and connection, equanimity and joy.
I’m pleading with loved ones not to give up on hope.
I’m clinging to love and battling with despair.
I imagine the universe will still contain incredible beauty, no matter what.
I’m looking forward to there being better options for vegan cheese.
It’ll be exciting to take my first ride in a self-driving car.