I've been refreshing the home page of every major news site for the past 12 hours

looking for some sort of hint about how the world is going to end.

I know it's crazy. I know it's irrational, but I can't escape the feeling that there's only a couple days

left before everything ceases to exist.

I'm not exactly sober right now so excuse me if I ramble. I just need to get this out.

For the past four years, I've worked in a writing room for a children's TV show.

If you're between the age of 7 and 12, you might have heard of it.

If you aren't, then you haven't.

It wasn't exactly the most glorious of gigs.

When I was younger, I imagined I'd be a household name by now,

but reality sets in over time.

Four years later, December 2019, we finished off the script for the final season.

The writing room dissolves and we all gear up to enter the new year freshly unemployed.

It was all pretty bittersweet.

I don't think anyone had a particularly strong connection to the source material, and the last couple of weeks

dealing with the studio notes were pretty tense. But most of us were with a project from the start,

and it felt weird saying goodbye to something we've spent so long working on.

I figured, I'd look at the bright side and take the ending of the show as a sign that it's

time to move on to something new and exciting.

I promised myself I'd read something gory and raunchy come January

with the hopes of getting myself past the g-rating mindset.

I took some time off from writing during the Christmas holidays, figured providing a bit of a buffer

...